


We Can Never (Just) Come Back to Earth

by Hopelikehell



Category: Fall Out Boy, Mania AU - Fandom, Mania-verse, mania-au
Genre: Alternative Universe: magic, Bitchboy wentz, M/M, Mania-AU - Freeform, Modern Fantasy, Secrets, lots of feelings, mania-verse - Freeform, not smutty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2019-12-25 14:32:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 31,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18263267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hopelikehell/pseuds/Hopelikehell
Summary: Monsters are real. After everything he’s been through, Pete’s still not sure if he is the monster or just has one he’ll never be able to see.Pete has always been the outlier of their group and common denominator in a chain of events that Patrick set off the day he saved Pete’s life. It’s an event that Patrick certainly doesn’t regret, but definitely wants to ignore the repercussions of. As much as Patrick tries to avoid difficult conversations and inevitable fights, he knew that on day, he’d have to finish what he started.Chicago is caught in the sunshine riptide, the epicenter of the possible downfall of humanity, leading to a new age of Beasts roaming the world, unbound by human souls that tether them to the confines of their plane. The only way to prevent it is for Patrick to accept the cause and effect of his actions and to figure out where conspiracies end and truth begins.





	1. When you wake up the world will come around

**Author's Note:**

> You’ll want to read my Mania Primer, or check out officialmaniaau.tumblr.com to learn more about the original story. I don’t own the premise (disloyalorder on tumblr) or the people the characters are named and modeled after (Fall Out Boy). Just the words on the paper. 
> 
> This is my first full length, continuous story that I’ve ever written, and comments really fuel my desire to continue the story.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s been nearly a year since the four men left the Howls, and none have been the same since. Pete’s just coming out of his coma, and while that’s great news, it makes everyone face the truth about the present state of the world. Joe is still getting unusual vibes from Pete, even though he’s supposed to be “okay”. Andy’s been busy tracking a slight rise in disappearances in the Far Southern Burbs and the reaches of civilization in the North. And Patrick? He’s been a nervous wreck trying to cope with what he did, and what he has yet to do. Pete just wants answers and a normal life. They’ll all have to face their fears and pasts to secure their futures.

Patrick once told Pete that Joe could see people in colors, and that he knew what they meant for each person. Joe could see what anyone was feeling or get a mood for the environment. Pete remembered how Joe looked around at the Howls, somewhere between disgusted, frightened, and a little bit sad. Pete thought at the time that those were pretty accurate descriptions of how to feel about the place, but he still wondered what kind of feeling Joe saw in the colors of the barren wasteland.

Pete knew his colors; he remembered spending hours learning the words to describe how the world around him looked. Some were hard to recall, like “cerulean”, “graphite” or “chartreuse”. But he could never forget the colors that stood out the most in those last few moments of his life. First was the milky green sky of the Howls; he was fighting and thrown to the ground, unable to move with his red and black blood oozing from his wounds, stuck staring at the swirling ceiling. Second was the bold blue sweater Patrick always wore; Pete had wanted to tell him to leave it at home so it wouldn’t get dirty, but he always found comfort in that sweater and couldn’t be bothered with getting the words out. Third was the blast of purple, glowing like a black light at one of Gabe’s clubs. He remembered how much he hated those lights. Maybe it was the way they showed every scar on his body, or maybe it was just something in the shade. He shuddered underneath them, but once transfixed, had difficulty looking away.

Then, there was nothing for a moment or maybe eternity. But then Pete saw flashes of pale skin over him, hands running through strawberry blonde hair, and the intensity of those blue-green eyes that he dreamed about often. He tried to focus on them, like they were his lifeline. They flashed and fizzled out quickly and he slipped back into the black nothingness. 

The next thing Pete saw was the harsh brightness above him. He heard stories of sunlight from Joe, and wondered briefly if he had been left in the open fields outside of the city. Left to die or left to live on his own. He tried to lift his hand to shield his eyes from the light, but he couldn’t feel anything moving. Overcome with pain in his chest and shoulders and left only with his voice, he called out for Andy, the one person who could make the bright go away and to get him where he needs to be. 

The sound he made was unintelligible; his throat dry from disuse. He put every ounce of strength into calling out again. The second time his voice became more audible, but sounded like “Ahhhhhennndeeeh?” instead of “Andy”. All the same, he heard footsteps creak in the floor.

“Pete?” 

Pete knew that voice, but had no idea why it’s here. It belonged to the last person he expected to see in his current predicament. A head with dark curly hair poking out in every direction hovers over him, and Pete can just make out the blue eyes, long nose, and a grimace engulfed in a beard. He’s unmistakable, even with the curls, but Pete still had a hard time believing it. 

“Chhoooe?” He breathed out heavily while thoughts of “what the fuck is he doing here?” and “what the fuck is going on?” run through his head. 

Joe’s eyes widened in surprise and as he gave a slight yelp. “Oh shit! Let me call Andy - he literally _just_ left to grab some saltines and Gatorade. I don’t know who needs saltines at 10:30 at night but yeah hang on a sec!”

He pulled out his phone and waved his hands away from Pete as he dialed Andy’s number.  
“Chill Moosh! You don’t need to bleat so loud, I can see he’s awake! Scoot!” Joe said in a hushed tone to the empty air around him.

Pete listened to the voice muttering, “C’mon c’mon... PickupPickupPickup - ANDY! You need to come back ASAP! Yeah, it’s Pete, he’s - no not really moving, sounds terrible - just said your name... Okay dude, I don’t - okay fine! Just, hurry? Okay?” 

He shoved the phone back into his pocket and headed to the cabinet to find something Andy must have told him to get. The curls came back into view a moment later, followed by the familiar congested yet clear voice that could only belong to Joe. 

“Heyyyyy Pete. Andy is on his way back right now. Did you want some water? He said you’d be thirsty so I-“

Pete nodded slightly. He opened his mouth while Joe unscrews the top. His lips were shocked to meet metal and cold liquid runs down his throat. He didn’t even realize that he was so thirsty. He almost forgot that it was Joe, of all people to be here, that was taking care of him. Usually Pete would shoot him some sort of look, or snarky comment, but he’s still exhausted and merely shifts slightly in his bed when he’s had his fill. 

Joe shifted awkwardly in his stance, attempting to say something before quickly closing his mouth again. Eventually he blurted out, “Look, Pete. I’m sure you’ve got a billion questions and I’m probably not the best person to answer them. But, like, it’s good to have you back with us. It’s been weird not having you pop up at our apartment at random times of the day.”

He ran a hand anxiously through the tight ringlets as he continued. “Do you, uhh, remember anything?”

Pete shook his head affirmatively. “Colorsss. Purpple... Patrickkhh...” he trailed off remembering Patrick. Why was Joe here and not Patrick?

“Whhhere’s Patrickhh,” he breathed out heavily. 

“Oh, he’s got a lecture tonight at the museum. Something about a book that Brendon gave him,” Joe responded. “He’s going to be so bummed he missed this. He’s like, super busy with work these days, but he was just here a couple of days ago. It’s kind of funny, like he knew you’d be back. He never talked about it being a vision or anything. Just acted like you’d be coming out of it soon.”

The revelation took Pete slightly by surprise. He figured he had been out for a bit, that much was clear, but just how long?

“Whhenhh’d it happenhh’d?” Breathe-speech is easiest on his throat, so he kept it up, hoping Joe will be able to understand.

“About, I don’t know, maybe nine or ten months?” Joe said.

Nine or ten months. Twelve months in a year. He had been gone for almost a year. The shocks continued to hit him like a wave. 

“Yeah,” Joe said, “it seemed like you’d never come out of it. But Patrick was always like, ‘Pete’s not dead, Pete’s not gonna die.’ So we all believed him.”

Joe gave Pete a small smile before continuing. “I’m not sure if I should tell you this, but Patrick probably risked a lot more than his life to stop the prophecy. Or at least tweak it. I mean, it’s called a prophecy for a reason, that shit is supposed to come true.”

“Hhwwhat do youhh meanhh?” Pete’s breaths wavered as he spoke.

“I mean that we did our part and Champion ultimately brought it down. You fucking died for a hot second or more back there. But Patrick - I don’t know what, how, or why, but I feel like Patrick had something to do with you still being here,” he shuffles his feet to lean more casually against the wall. 

“Honestly, I... I hoped he’d leave you for dead or to fate, whichever wanted you the most, as long as you were out of our lives.” Joe broke into a hollow laugh. “That clearly didn’t happen. I was so pissed at him, I don’t think we talked for an entire week after we got back. He’d try to sell me his reasonings with a side of bullshit. Talking about fairness, the greater good, and all that stuff. The Ancients wanted to better balance the universe or something. I’m pretty sure it was a good combo of guilt and love. Not that he’ll admit anything to me.

Pete gave Joe a look of disbelief. Love was never something that he and Patrick spoke about. Love was for fairytales with happy endings, not the real world, not really. 

“I mean like, he legitimately cares about you, dude. I don’t think he could ever be the one to pull the trigger. At the time, I think I could have done it, but it wasn’t my place to make the move. And like, I’m glad it wasn’t.”

 _“Why the fuck is Joe telling me this? What is his angle here?”_ Pete thought.

“He was dodgy as hell, but he knows better than to lie to me outright. He did bitch at me for, like, about how I treated you, like you weren’t even a person. Which was pretty shitty actually. I mean, I guess you technically aren’t a person, but I should have treated you more like one instead of just some creepy bro-monster, ya know? So, uhm, I’m sorry Pete. Even though you were a serious asshole, I was a bigger asshole and I’m really sorry.”

Joe awkwardly placed his hand on Pete’s shoulder and gave him a few pats. Pete’s brain barely processed the touches, as it was overwhelmed with everything he’s learned in the last fifteen minutes. 

”I... Thankksuhh Chhhoe.” He managed to give Joe a smile back, like it’s the first time they’ve actually seen each other at the same level of understanding. 

A loud knock came from the hallway, followed by the muffled sound of Andy’s voice. Joe leaned in close to Pete and whispers, “Don’t tell Patrick that I mentioned all of this. At least not yet. Give him a few days to come to terms with you being awake before hounding him with questions.” He stepped away and began to text on his phone, presumably to Patrick himself.

Pete couldn’t really bring himself to turn away from where Joe was sitting, his head still reeling. He did his best to distract himself by watching Andy fussing around and gathering a bunch of things. He looked at a machine near Pete’s side and _tsked_ noticeably. 

“Your vitals are still low, but your heart rate is steady; clearly you’re conscious so -“ He ran a hand through his beard and finally looked at Pete. 

“Man, Pete, you fucking scared me! I was really worried over the last few months, cause there wasn’t any change in your outlook. You didn’t get any worse than when you first arrived, but you weren’t getting any better either.” Andy’s eyes glanced over the machines and anywhere but Pete’s face. “We’re doing all we can for you medically speaking, but you know your body better than we ever will, so it’s been difficult to give you the care we’d give one of our usual patients.”

Andy was rambling - saying words, but nothing of real value. It was uncharacteristic of him to not get to the point. As much as it hurt to move, Pete did his best to get into a sitting position. Andy quickly pushed him back down and presses a button that moved his back upward with no effort. 

“Truthhh?” Pete says. He hoped his expression meant more than the word. Andy was the only one who really understood him; he knew Andy wouldn’t lie or sugarcoat the truth.

Andy’s eyes are fixed to Pete’s once more, almost as if to say, “You sure you’re ready?”

Instead he asked, “Do you know why you’re here? Alive, that is. Not in this room.”

“Patrickhh,” Pete huffed as his voice still slightly spaces out at the end of his words. 

Andy nodded, “Okay, so Joe must have said that much. I went in with you, hoping against that prophecy that you’d make it out alive, especially if there was any way I could help make that happen. I... I don’t really know how it works. Maybe some sort of magic like the Urie kid was talking about. But there was the fight and then you were gone. Dead.”

Pete blinked at the word. It wasn’t just Joe being dramatic. It was a simple fact. He had actually died. 

Andy continued to speak through Pete’s thoughts. “... Just a lot of blood and guts between you and the Big Bad. I think Patrick tried to push you out of the way while the other one was pulling you towards him. And Patrick and his monster just... I don’t even know. It was like a blast of light. I heard Patrick’s voice in my head, but it wasn’t him talking, not really. I couldn’t see anything, but it felt like all the chaos and the fighting exploded into nothing. The next thing I know, Patrick was by my side dragging your body. Well most of it... sorry about the arm.”

Pete looked down, remembering that he couldn’t move his arm before. And _oh. That explains a lot._ His eyes expanded as they stared at the stump jutting out just below his right shoulder. No arm, no fingers, no nothing. There was still bruising at the seams, dark yellow and blue painting his honeyed skin, almost pretty the way the colors blended like a healing tattoo. Just one more thing he had to come to terms with.

“You were still bleeding out and you had various fractures in the bones that still existed,” Andy continued. “Your guy was just as beat to hell as you, but Zell and Mooshke took proper care for it. At least I think they did. It -he?- hasn’t moved yet, but I think Zell is trying to diffuse the situation there.” 

Pete zoned out again when Andy mentioned the Invisible Monsters and assesses his own situation. He remembered the prophecy and how Patrick made it clear that it had to come true. They couldn’t just not go to face TBB, but Pete did not want to die that day. He didn’t even think about it happening. But he was alive. Joe and Andy said Patrick did something. Something big, something wrong. Something Pete could never repay.

Andy gently interrupted his thoughts. “Hey, Pete? I know you’ve probably got a bunch of questions, but I need to ask a few of you first. How are you feeling? Is there anything that can make you feel physically better?”

“Khhan’t movehh. Hhurtssuh. Patrickhhh?”

“Okay, you’ll have to take it easy for a little bit. Once you start to stabilize a bit more, we can talk about getting you a prosthetic arm and doing physical therapy. I’ll see if Patrick can stop by, but he hasn’t been taking my calls recently. Is there anything that you remember about that night?”

Pete shut his eyes again. Didn’t he already answer that? Or was that another memory of someone else. Actually, if he thought about it, he didn’t feel those old memories of the souls he once devoured. He could remember remembering them, but they weren’t echoing like they had before. Oh right, Andy was waiting for an answer.

“Juhhsthh colorss, lighhhts, darhhhkhh.”

And Patrick. Always coming back to Patrick and his eyes. Those eyes - full of a million thoughts and feelings, but none he had time to share with Pete in that instant. Pete can’t remember what he was saying. It’s like he was watching the scene play out and he wasn’t really existing in it. Patrick holding his pale hands, his entire body. “Not today, not yet,” sticks out in his mind, but he can’t attribute a voice to the phrase. Maybe those were his words. It is too confusing to think hard about. He feels like he’s ready to shed his skin and give into the ever present pangs of “too much not enough” in his soul, but thinks better of it, considering how lucky he was to have a skin in the first place.

“Ahhndayyhh. So tirrhurdd. Stayhh?” He said quietly. 

“Yeah of course buddy! I’m not going anywhere, Pete. If I fall asleep and you need something, just wake me up, no big deal. Do you... want help or are you good?”

“Ghhooodhh. Thhhanksuhh,” Pete replied. Andy’s medicine didn’t really work on him anyway. He yawned heavily and tried to push aside everything he learned today until all that’s left is the soft beeps of the machines and the eventual light sniffles of Andy as he slept upright. 

Pete wearily let the darkness consume him once more.

XxX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from “Lullabye” - Fall Out Boy


	2. You put my head in such a flurry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hey lost boy, it’s been a while... or are we the lost boys and we finally have our Peter Pan back?”

Over the next few weeks, Pete spends his days either confined to his bed, or wheeled around to watch TV. Andy didn’t want him out of the hospital ward yet, but he was happy to drive Pete around the city once in a while. Pete loved watching the reds and golds of the trees fly past them like a fiery whirlwind. Andy talked about the latest mission he was working on, though he doesn’t usually share his adventures with friends or colleagues; he typically only sticks to the facts to avoid sounding like a braggart. Pete wasn’t judgmental and enjoyed listening to the usually quiet man talk about breaking up gangs or finding weapon stashes. Pete desperately wanted to get back into action with the team, but he settles for the vicarious experiences.

Joe also stopped in from time to time, usually bringing Pete some kind of a snack from the coffee shop. It didn’t take Pete very long to regain use of his left arm, and he was soon able to nibble the treats without Joe hand feeding him like an animal. Joe also updated Pete on Patrick’s whereabouts, which Pete began to take with an air of suspicion. At least Joe apologized on Patrick’s behalf.

“There’s this big conference in Cleveland that flew him out after they read his latest findings on the Outer Limits and the mysterious bogs that kept moving around when we went to the Door,” Joe told him proudly. “And apparently the networking opportunities that come with the social mixer are incredible. Considering the current state of things, it’s a little surprising that Andy hasn’t expanded past Chicago.”

“Huh?” Pete asked. “What do you mean ‘the current state of things’?” He raised his limbs to accentuate the statement, but it looked so strange that Joe had to stagger a laugh. 

“Oh, just weird shit. Lots of people have been disappearing from the burbs, more claims of hauntings, a few accidents. Stuff like that. Except it’s kinda been happening all over, as far as we know,” Joe responded casually. 

This struck Pete as particularly odd. Joe had never been casual about weird or bad stuff, and Patrick mentioned that Burbanites tended to be overly suspicious of anything out of the ordinary. Their relationship was proof of that. 

Another week went by and Pete’s condition remained mostly unchanged. He was still a bit lethargic and never quite warm enough. He could move around the complex at will with a walker, but his equilibrium was slightly miscalibrated. He wobbled around like a new born kitten, aimless and unsure of himself. His voice has lost it’s breathiness, but he remained soft-spoken. Joe continued to bring books that Patrick mostly picked out. Andy gave him some legos, a favorite toy of Pete’s, but using his feet to hold onto the small pieces quickly lost its novelty. 

Patrick has yet to make an appearance. By this point, Pete came to the conclusion that Patrick was purposely avoiding him. Something about what Joe mentioned when he woke up stuck with him. Like it was his fault that the “weird shit” exists. If he had to deal with whatever potential consequences that his existence caused, Pete surmised that he wouldn’t want to see himself either. In an act that screamed of desperation and self-loathing, he asked Andy to remove all of the mirrors in the bathroom and hallway. He shuffled into oversized sweaters and fluffy blankets, a comfortable shield against the world. 

Pete knew how to antagonize and terrorize to get what he wants, but out of some messed up sense of pride, he’s never played the guilt card. He had nothing to gain from making himself smaller, until now. He thought, _maybe if there is a little less me, maybe Patrick won’t have to be away so much and there will be less weird stuff._

A month passes and Pete has written Patrick off as a loss. He still had Andy, and a sense of peace and quiet that he never enjoyed before. Part of him still longed to be back in the world on the back of a motorcycle or walking the streets with the Network. Joe didn't stop by as often anymore, and when he did, he spent most of his time talking to Andy. Pete sometimes pretended to be asleep just to avoid awkward small talk and more excuses. He barely acknowledged Joe hissing to someone on his phone, “I don’t know why you can’t come and fucking say hi.” Nothing felt better or had much of an impact on his existence. And really, he thought, he probably deserves this. He can’t explain his thinking, but if Patrick has taught him anything, it was that there was a cause and effect to everything in the universe.

Two months after Pete first woke up, Andy decided that Pete was finally ready for more strenuous physical therapy. He fitted him with a prosthetic arm, just to give him some sense of normalcy. The arm helped Pete’s balance, though his gait would be forever fucked due to his mismatched legs. Pete was also tasked with learning how to write with his left hand. He was happy for the physical tasks, a distraction from the nothing his life has become, but he hated the writing. His handwriting slid all over the page, rendering it completely illegible. This exhausted Pete more than any physical feat that Andy ever has planned for the day. 

After one particularly challenging day - one which Andy made Pete start writing in a real journal - Pete’s eyes faded in and out of focus. He squinted at the clock:

5:43 PM

He remembered a time that he once was able to close his eyes and be physically transported to another world. But that world was gone and those days were over. He was left devoid of the few ties he had to the place. As his eyes grow heavy, somehow, he’s back there in the Howls. The green-grey skies aren’t something that exist in the mortal plane, at least as far as he’s seen. It was quiet and empty for once, almost eerie to exist. The Howls didn’t glow though, and there was a definite glow deep in the caverns. It was that black light purple, the one Pete wanted to avoid but is always inexplicably drawn closer to. It led him down twisted paths to a space where Patrick sat patiently.

 _Patrick?_ Pete asked cautiously. His voice returns to its usual jaunty tone and cadence. A tone he hasn’t heard since before everything else about him was broken.

Patrick turned to the sound of his voice. Pete almost cried at the sight of him. While Andy grew out his beard and Joe sprouted tufts of curls, Patrick remained unchanged. Maybe a little bit of a haircut hidden underneath the same black cap he favored, but still clean shaven. The familiar pools of not-too-blue but not-quite-green shined behind his glasses. They were clear now, not the thick black ones he knew so well, but they still suited his face - a portrait of perfect dimples and a smattering of freckles. He was even wearing the same fucking blue cardigan that he wore all those months ago. Patrick - his Patrick. 

_Hey lost boy. It’s been a while..._ Patrick trailed off and looked past him. _Or maybe we’re the lost boys and we finally have our Peter Pan back?_ He quirked an eyebrow, still not quite meeting Pete’s gaze. 

_Actually, I was the one who found y-_ Pete started before Patrick interrupted him. 

_No, that’s too jokey. I haven’t seen you in for-fucking-ever but you’re not gonna want to hear that. Joe was right, I should have come sooner. No idea what I could have done, but I should have been here for you._

_Patr-_

_The future is... well, I may have fucked it up and it freaks me out. But honestly Pete,_ Patrick stared intently through him, hands spread in emphasis, _it was so worth it. On the Ancients, it’s not enough to be this close and not close enough. When I heard you were back, I almost didn’t believe it. But you’re not quite back yet, are you? There’s still a little bit of you missing. But you’ve got the head and the heart at least._ Patrick gave a sad sort of laugh.

 _Patrick, I’m right here! What the fuck are you talking about? I’m here!_ Pete shouted as he reached for one of Patrick’s hands. 

And in an instant he was no longer in the cavern, but in his room at HQ. He felt a dull pain at his forehead and realizes it’s from jolting up and crashing into something. Or rather, someone. Both men released expletives but never the other’s hand. They locked eyes and Pete clenched his fingers tighter. He wanted to grab Patrick’s shirt, face, or other hand, just to be sure he’s holding him, but then he remembered he’s down a real arm to reach him. 

“H-hey Pete,” Patrick stammered slightly.

“You’re really here, right? I’m really here?” Pete’s voice sped up and broke like it has for the last two months. He’d have to talk to Andy about that at some point.

Patrick’s confirmation didn’t provide the comfort he was expecting. And Pete couldn’t get out the words he wanted to say - the words he should say - to keep Patrick close as he’s needed him for the past two months. His throat tensed up again and he could barely stutter out a badly timed joke. He tried to get a hold of himself and pulled himself closer to Patrick, as if his presence could soak up every one of his thoughts and questions. Patrick slowly wrapped his arms around Pete, enveloping him in a tight hug. 

“We were in the Howls. But it was here? I followed the light to here. And you were talking a bunch of nonsense like I wasn’t really here. And you said something is missing? Do we have to find it? What do we have to do Patrick? What-“

“Shhhh shhhh it’s okay Pete. We’re not in the Howls, we’re in the mortal plane. I’m so sorry Pete, I’m so so sorry,” Patrick said as his own throat caught on a sob. “I’m here, I promise. I’m not going anywhere. And I’ve said ‘I’m sorry’ a million times over the last year, to Joe, to Andy, to the Pantheon, to the whole world! But not enough to you. That’s the least amount I could give you; a million apologies.”

He broke away slightly to look at Pete. The darker man initially shook beneath him and his gaze, but ultimately met Patrick’s eyes. For a second, there was an understanding between them. That this wasn’t what either had expected, but what they both wanted. The moment passed with a pained expression fleeting across Pete’s eyes. 

“Fuck!” He exclaimed as he collapsed back onto the bed.

Patrick jumped up like he’d just been electrocuted. “Are you alright? What was that? Do I need to get Andy?”

“Yeah I’m fine just, back spasm, no please stay. M-my body is just a piece of shit.” Pete uncomfortably rolled his shoulders like Andy taught him to after any spasms. 

Patrick sat on Pete’s mattress. He instinctively motioned for the other man to lean into his lap. When he did, he ran his fingers through Pete’s hair and hummed a familiar tune. It was almost second nature with the number of times he’s done this. But it still worked and Pete wasn’t showing any signs of resistance. When Pete’s golden and brown orbs looked up to meet his own, he realized that this, this was the point that he was fully and completely fucked. He was almost the cause of Pete’s death, and now Pete’s life was going to be the death of his own heart. And maybe that’s why he’s stayed away for so damn long.

“What happened, Patrick? No one will say for sure. I’m not supposed to be here, you did something. You... saved me? What did you do? What really happened?”

Patrick was expecting a barrage of questions at some point, he just wished it hadn’t been tonight. He was just dealing with being in the same room as Pete right now, something he’s avoided for far too long. Just another point to add to why he hasn’t been around. He figured it would just cause more grief and a call-and-return of “my fault” that neither needed right now. Not when there was so much else going on in the world. Patrick found it difficult enough to exist as some sort of “chosen savior of the world”, how could he add “savior of Pete” to his job description? If he was being honest with himself, Pete was almost his entire world. Just a world and a role that he couldn’t fully function in yet.

“Trick? Please talk to me?” Pete pleaded.

“I....” Patrick breathed deeply, “I don’t know. Not really. Like I was there, but I didn’t know what I did, or what I was doing. It just all.... happened.”

Pete looked down in disappointment. It wasn’t because Patrick couldn’t give him the answers, it was because he wouldn’t. Patrick was supposed to help him fill in the gaps, help him understand what he’s supposed to do now. He knew that Patrick would support him in whatever he wanted to do with his new life, but he had to know what he was saved for. 

“I can’t hear them anymore. That means he’s really gone, right? We-you beat him? All of his drones and harvesters, my... brothers and sisters. We won?”

Patrick could at least give him this. Or part of it anyway. “Yes. He’s gone, they are all gone. All of his spawn and creatures, your kin. Utterly destroyed.”

“Except me.”

“You weren’t really his though. You were - ARE - your own person. You belong to, well, you, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“Oh jeez Pete. I don’t fucking know. Just because I get visions doesn’t mean I know everything about everything. Andy probably knows more than I do, what with his tech and science bros. It’s just- you’re here now, in this moment. Not in the Howls. Things are going to be okay. Okay?”

“I guess,” Pete responded with a hint of saltiness in his voice. He saw the exasperation in Patrick’s eyes. He used to love chasing that spark, attempting to cross a line for no reason. But tonight it didn’t feel right. Not when they were finally in the same room and both conscious of that fact.

“It’s fine ‘Trick. I’m just trying to organize everything in my brain. What did Andy call it? Compartmentalize? Like a filing cabinet for my thoughts and memories. But it’s okay. We don’t have to talk about it now. Just, maybe sometime we could?”

Patrick nodded. “Sometime we will.” It wasn’t not a lie, but wasn’t not a promise either. “We’ll get through this,” he said confidently - a declaration that no future vision was going to interfere with. It might take years to get to the right point with each other, but they’d get there together. 

xXx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from “w.a.m.s.” - Fall Out Boy


	3. I am your savior, yeah, I am your secret too

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick hints a bit more at the truth of what happened in the Howls, sees a possible future, and examines the outcomes of his actions with Joe. Meanwhile, Andy’s working more aggressively with Pete because he needs him back on the team. He’s starting to realize that Pete’s not going to be able to function with a handicap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to say thanks to everyone who has read this so far. If you do read, I would absolutely love a comment with your thoughts.
> 
> Title from “Hot to the Touch, Cold On the Inside” - Fall Out Boy

**One week earlier**

Patrick zips up his hoodie as a breeze rustles the branches in Welles Park. He recalls visiting this place as a child, loving the name of the street, “Sunnyside Ave”, and every bright bit of energy that flowed inside him as he ran over the playground equipment. He sits underneath the Gazebo watching the other kids and their monsters dart through the water spurts and laughing. The laughter dies down slightly as the water streams from the sky instead of the ground. 

The monsters begin to stiffen up and look to the east. Champion feels it too and his three long necks turn in the same direction. Instinct takes over. The monsters stand guarded against their young souls, urging them back to their parents. Suddenly, Champion looks west and lets out a loud roar. Patrick follows his monster’s gaze. 

Two riders on motorbikes rev their engines, while two other people follow on foot, keeping their weapons raised. All are wearing masks and protective headgear, but he can make out blonde curls topping one of their heads. Across the nearly empty park, an energy materializes with a cacophony of squawks, howls, and buzzes. Then Patrick sees them: the beasts, corrupted and twisted by dark magic or forced pairing. Unstable monsters that had their souls ripped from them, or perhaps had been ripped away from their souls. He knows the legends, knows the supposed signs.

The four figures in the west are illuminated by a sudden flash of lightning as the ground shakes from the nearly instant thunderclap that follows. One of the riders pulls their masks down revealing a scarred face with wide eyes. Patrick’s eyes expand to match them. _Pete._ How Patrick didn’t realize it was him to begin with is a thought that scares him. His monster alone should have - _there is no monster_. In fact, none of the crew, which Patrick assumes are other Network members, have their bonded partners with them. 

The figure with curls raises their hand, weapon brandished. He then pulls the handkerchief around his mouth down and mouths the words, “lets kick some monster ass.” As the four rush past Patrick, the force of their run seems to pull him with them, until it feels like all the wind has been knocked out of him. 

He gasped out a heavy stream of expletives as his head spun. He’d been doing this for thirty-three fucking years, but it never got any easier. _Focus on the real_ his mother’s voice echoed in his head. Or was it Joe’s voice in his ears? He focused anyway. 

A notebook. The floor beneath him. A stain on the rug. His shoes. Real, physical, present, breathe. 

A David Bowie record on the shelf. Joe’s hands on his hands. The fan spinning above them. A pen on the table. Real, physical, present, breathe.

“Patrick!” Hands on his face. Joe’s face. Joe’s face! He locked his eyes and focused. His own met the icy blues staring back and with another contemplative breathe, he lands in the present. 

“Joe,” he said. The other man nodded and pushed a bottle of water into his hands.

“Drink, I’m here. I’m not leaving,” Joe responded gently. 

Even after being roommates for ten years, Patrick was still pleasantly surprised by Joe’s generosity and learned ability to know exactly what he needs when he comes to after a vision. They sat for a few moments in silence while Patrick downed an entire bottle of water. Joe had two mugs of tea waiting near the piano. He guided Patrick into a sitting position and retrieved the drinks for them. He took his place in the armchair next to Patrick and waited patiently. Just another day at the apartment. Just another thought to add to the book. Patrick began to recount his latest vision.

“Beasts at a city park. Coming for children. On a mission but without a purpose. They’re moving,” Joe pondered when Patrick was finished. “Now do you believe me? That’s exactly what the Wild are! It’s them, Patrick!”

“Joe, no. That’s impossible, we’ve talked about it. They were more like Pete’s monster than just... unhinged. I don’t know if they were actually coming for the kids. Just that their monsters noticed them first,” Patrick shook his head. He knew where Joe was going with this train of thought. It’s been a sticky subject, one that they’ve agreed to disagree on, despite Joe’s insistence that he knew far more than “those city dwelling idiots at the university”.

“Yeah yeah, no research blah blah blah. There’s no research that can explain Pete, much less how he survived. But look where we are!” Joe waved his hands in exasperation. 

“Technically there is research on Pete’s kind, just not a lot. There hasn’t ever been a sentient drone turned human, but...” Patrick trailed off as Joe’s eyes narrowed.

“One, fuck you Patrick. You know exactly what I’m talking about. Two, also fuck you Patrick. I know it’s them. They took my cousin! They took her and no body was ever found. They crushed it and her soul. There was plenty of proof available, but the Citizens didn’t know shit about it. And you! You say you can’t deal with the lack of facts and evidence, but your boyfriend’s entire continued existence has no rhyme or reason! I just don’t understand how that’s okay, when my family is being triggered by all of the disappearances. There needs to be some sort of explanation-“

“What happened to Pete doesn’t need an explanation!” Patrick blurt out with conviction. “I wasn’t just going to let him die!”

Another beat of silence passed between them. 

Joe smirked a little and said, “I fucking knew it.”

Patrick’s demeanor instantly went from confident to fearful. “Joe, I-“

“It was you. You did something to him. You saved him, on purpose. All that, ‘the prophecy was wrong’ bullshit. Your stupid mysterious nonsense. Why didn’t you tell us the truth? Like we’d get it, we’d understand why you - Woah wait... wait just a second,” Joe paused mid-rant as the answers to his questions click together in his head.

“You didn’t - because of the consequences - you didn’t want to be held responsible. The imbalance exists now, when it didn’t before. You didn’t find a way, you made it your way or no way. Did you know what would happen? Is that why you’re playing dumb about the Wild? On the Ancients, Patrick! What the fuck were you thinking?”

“Joe,” Patrick said weakly without meeting his eyes. “It wasn’t like-“

“Wasn’t like what? Like you didn’t sell out humanity for some good dick? A dick you refuse to visit on the regular now that he’s conscious? Is it because you feel guilty for fucking us over or because it makes it easier to ignore everything that’s happening right now?” Joe appeared to be struggling between avoiding eye contact with Patrick and stubbornly refusing to back down. While Patrick didn’t share Joe’s aura ability, he could almost feel the red hot anger emanating from him. It wasn’t the first argument they’ve had about Pete, and it was unlikely to be the last. 

“I can’t get into it, Joe. I really couldn’t do anything else in that moment. None of it felt real. Like, I didn’t even have a say in the matter. Like, I had to do it,” Patrick responded. 

“Don’t give me that shit. You made a decision. Maybe it was the only decision you felt like you could make, but there is always a choice. You breaking the prophecy is proof enough of that.”

Joe took a deep breath and ran his fingers through his curls, a habit that never failed to refocus him. “Look, whatever ‘this’ turns out to be, its gotta be all part of something bigger. And I know you think that it’s my conspiracy-ass roots talking, but I feel in my guts that this is all connected!”

He tied his hair into a top knot before continuing. “And you know what else? Out of all the shit in your visions, this is what freaks me out the most. That you’re got everything on your shoulders and in your brain, like everything rides on you, but we’re going to be those riders heading into the storm. Like that’s just who we are now.” 

“Look, the future is always in flux. You know that. All I know how to do is live in the present, not prepare for a future that may not even happen.”

“Yeah, but what happens if it’s already too late to change the future?” Joe asked sardonically. 

“We cross that bridge when we get to it, like we always do, Joe,” Patrick told him. It’s the best answer he had at the moment and he hoped that Joe would take it.

Joe got up and grabbed Patrick’s notebook. “Pat, you’ll tell us one day, right? Me and Pete?”

“I want to, believe me Joe. You’ll be the first to know when I’m ready, Pete will be the second. I promise. I just need to get the right words together so that no one gets the wrong idea.” Patrick’s voice and expression were sincere, and Joe didn’t see any of the usual reds or greens around him that read “lying”.

“You better start expanding your vocabulary then.”

**Three Months later**

Life for Pete at the Network HQ became extremely structured. At first, Pete didn’t mind because it was better than sitting in bed all day doing nothing. But he missed the unscheduled visits from Joe and Patrick. He missed walking outside and smelling the air after a good rain. The only way to get that back is to keep up with his physical therapy sessions and learn how to use the prosthetic arm that Andy fit him with. He hated the way it felt against his skin. It was weird to look at the plastic sheath over his stump and the fake arm hanging off it.

He also hated writing anything down. Pete was naturally right-handed, so his writing skills were limited to sloppy scrawls and pictures that looked more like ancient hieroglyphs. Joe even took a few home to see if Patrick could read any of them.

“He said that this one looks like ‘dog of the sun’. Can you believe that? I almost lost it the other night!” Joe laughed. 

Pete soon grew tired of the jokes, so he attempted to get his legs back to their old self by climbing and running throughout the building. He quickly realized the futility of it when he tried to grasp a ledge with his prosthetic hand and tumbled to the concrete floor below him. Another Network member, saw the whole thing and laughed at him. 

He spent the rest of the day in sweatpants and his favorite oversized yellow hoodie, while he attempted to write “don’t laugh at me, it’s not funny” over and over again.

It didn’t take Andy long to visit him, but he wanted to allow time for Pete to pout about the whole thing before going in. “He’s still kind of a kid. He needs a little time to simmer in the whole thing. A little shot to his ego isn’t the end of the world,” he said to his second-in-command, Keith. Keith just shook his head, still finding Pete’s presence at their headquarters a ridiculous circumstance. “

Even if Keith was the face of their organization, Andy called the shots and there was a track record of them being good calls. He was elected the leader for a reason. Pete was a a questionable call to most of the lower tiered members, but they respected it nonetheless. 

Andy knocked lightly at the door before entering. “Hey Peter Parkour, how’s the leg holding up from earlier?”

Pete only gave Andy a confused look as he wrapped the blanket around him tighter.

“I could have sworn that we talked about Spider-Man at some point!”

Sensing that Andy wasn’t leaving any time soon, Pete drew out a long and heavy sigh. “Why am I still here, Andy?”

Without missing a beat, Andy responded, “Are we getting existential or literal right now?”

“Kinda both,” shrugged Pete.

“Well for the first part, you’re going to need to ask -“

“Patrick,” they said simultaneously. Pete rolled his eyes.

“We both know that’s pointless. He keeps changing the subject or saying he doesn’t know. And I tried writing things down, but I can’t even make a fucking circle! What good is life if I can’t even live it properly?”

“Pete, I know you’re frustrated, but you know you want to be here. The other option is to be back in the Howls, and that wasn’t an acceptable outcome,” Andy insisted.

“I just hate _this_ thing. It makes me feel like a freak,” Pete said as he pointed at the prosthetic. The fake arm was pristine and unmarred by scars and tattoos. His real arm had a million markings, both faint and obvious. He didn’t feel like himself without those marks, no matter how mismatched and obscene they all looked together. He’d feel much less like a weirdo if he could just have his other arm back.

“Pete, you are the least normal person I know, but you’re still a person.”

Pete didn’t respond. Andy knew what he wanted. He wanted to feel things again and be confident in his abilities. He didn’t care about what other people have overcome; he wasn’t other people. He was a mess of bones and organs and limbs, and he wasn’t him without all of those parts. Pete claimed he could feel his old arm sometimes. A twitch of the fingers or a reflex when he bumps into something. “Phantom limb syndrome” is what Andy called it. To Pete, it seemed like the fix was pretty simple, but Andy has been hesitant in asking the council for it. 

Every week since he could speak properly, Pete asked Andy for a new limb. Every week, Andy had a good reason to deny him.  
“The research is not in the budget right now.” “No one knows how to do that kind of intensive surgery.” “We can’t just get an arm out of nowhere.” All of which led to his existence in which he had to spend his mornings doing PT with a mannequin arm.

“If you aren’t here to tell me that I’m getting a new arm, can we just do the exercises already?”

“What if that’s the reason I’m here?”

“Then why haven’t you mentioned it yet?”

“Because getting a rise out of you is worth it, Wentz.”

“Consider it gotten. So, what’s the plan then?” Pete asked.

“You’re a tough guy, held together by stitches and ye olde magics and sheer force of will,” Andy said with a slight twinkle in his eye. “It seems our supply of dead criminals don’t physically measure up to you. We sent a notice out to Travie. Normally we’d shut him down for black market parts, but sources say the trade demand is dwindling. Anyway, he’s good at finding nice things.”

Pete grinned widely. A true smile that he hasn’t worn in quite some time. He hasn’t been this excited since Andy got him a used motorbike that they could work on together. Andy really did have a knack for helping to fix broken things, and Pete was just another person in the never ending list. The thought of being able to feel the handles beneath his fingers again and the motor beneath him is all Pete needed to say yes. 

But then Pete thought about what he was actually signing up for. It was easy to want something when it seemed like it would never happen. When the chance arrived, he felt himself stopping short of actual taking it. 

“Oh,” Pete said, his demeanor completely changed as he realized what this could actually entail. He was abruptly punctuated with at least five negative thoughts that all conclude he didn’t desire it as much as he thought he would. Even so, he knew it was absolutely what he wanted, and what he needed in order to make any of his dreams happen.

Andy gave him a strange look. “The drugs... they won’t keep me asleep. It’s probably not going to feel great. So I’m going to be awake the whole time,” Pete responded slowly. “Are you going to be the one doing everything?”

“I... I don’t think so, Pete,” Andy said catching the look of worry in Pete’s eyes.

Those were concerns number one and two: facing more pain and more unknowns. Pete only really trusted Andy to provide proper medical care. He’s balked before at the idea of having someone else tend to his more intimate and deep wounds. But Andy was not a medical professional. He could set stitches and clean out the dirt or bullets out of him, but he’s never sewed an entire limb back on him. It wasn’t even skill that was needed, it was some of what the Urie boy called “magic”. An unknown force that affected the world around it. That was the Big Bad’s job, to stitch him up as easily as he could unravel him. The Big Bad wasn’t there, and he had no idea what was keeping him together anymore. 

“What if I lose control? I could hurt you or someone else! What if I turn and can’t snap out of it?” Pete questioned anxiously. Worry number three was the most hazardous to anyone involved. He hasn’t purposely or accidentally slipped into his monster’s skin since before the Howls. He has no idea what would happen and it felt better to keep the unknown at bay in this circumstance.

“You won’t Pete,” Andy said earnestly. He glanced at the sleeping houndfly dragon-thing with skin that was typically the shape and shade of moving molten lava. The skin looked surprisingly still and the main eyes that remained open appeared to be glazed over. There was still a small snarl ready to form at the lips, but it wasn’t being provoked, so it stayed still and silent. “If you could see your monster, it’s quite chill right now.” 

He wanted this, but he couldn’t imagine it would be worth the risk. Now that his dream has turned into a possibly reality, he’s completely torn.

Andy pulled Pete in close and murmured, “Stop making mountains in your head, I need you to think clearly.”

Pete nodded lightly. Andy was already climbing the worries four and five while pushing down any of the hills that threaten to pop up.

“I need you back,” he continued. “The Network needs your skills and expertise. This is bigger than you now, and I don’t want to navigate the next shitstorm without you on our team. By our sides. I wouldn’t put resources into the research that goes into something like this if I wasn’t at least 95% sure that something could come out of it. Plus you’re a miserable asshole when you don’t get your way and it’s seriously affecting my work flow.”

“Well,” Pete hesitated slightly before pressing on at Andy’s urging yet calm voice. “Well, I suppose I owe you a little bit for my continued existence.”

Andy shook his head. “This isn’t about a debt to me or society. This is about you needing to be your best self and living with some kind of purpose. If you need a real arm to make that happen, we’re getting you a real fucking arm.”

Even though Pete still had his reservations about the whole thing, he trusted Andy with his life and had never been given a reason to do otherwise. 

“Can Patrick come? I really want him to be there.” 

Andy saw no reason to say no. Plus it would give him the chance to prod at Patrick’s brain again and try to figure out where they all fit in the latest mysteries that plagued their city.

“The specimen they are looking for isn’t going to be ready for another three months, so you’ve gotta keep working at everything until then.”

Pete already had his phone out and began to type out a message to Patrick. 

**hey trix, whatcha doin in like 3 mnths from now?**

He didn’t hear back for another two hours, which he expected. Patrick usually only used his phone during emergencies, on breaks, or before bed.

_I haven’t been booked for any conferences yet, if that is what you’re asking. Why, what is happening in three months?_

**Andy found a way 2 get me a reel arm! I’m gonna have hands that wrk again! 🙌🏼**

_I’m excited for you, Pete. But why would you want me to be there? I’m not a doctor, I won’t be able to be in there if it’s like an operation._

**dude 🙄 your my lucky charm! I’m only here cause of u.**

(...)

(...)

_Pete..._

**Awww cmon! U make me a better person.**

(...)

(...)

**plzzzzz???? With a 🍒 on top???**

On the other side of the city, Patrick just rolled his eyes at his phone.

xXx


	4. My Old Aches Become New Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re only trapped until you let yourself become free.”

Pete was the ever-present offer that Patrick could never refuse. Some days he attributed it to some sense of repayment, but other days it felt more pure and precise; a simple desire to be with Pete or to be there for Pete.

If Pete wanted Patrick around for the surgery, he wasn’t going to be stupid enough to deny either of them the opportunity. But because they hadn’t talked about “them” and still had months to catch up on, Patrick remained slightly cautious when he agreed to hold Pete’s hand as he gets a new one. The unsaid words from their last meeting built a tension between them that felt insurmountable. They had fought about things before, both stupid and serious, but it was a shift of perception that puts them at odds now. 

Patrick desperately wanted to reset that perception. He wasn’t a god, or not yet according to the fucking Pantheon. He didn’t waste his time wishing or dreaming that he wasn’t born with his abilities; it’s far too late in life to start that again. He can’t seem to find a good way to answer Joe’s questions about that night in the Howls, much less Pete’s, and it really bothered him how much power he has in just his knowledge. He could deal with being seen as special, but he couldn’t deal with being seen as powerful.

Even with this thought sticking out in his mind, Patrick also couldn’t help but see Pete as a little bit fragile, even though he knew first hand how physically and mentally strong the guy was. He still felt like it was his duty to keep Pete afloat while he relearned how to swim. He suspected that just being near Pete might have been enough to produce such an outcome, but it wasn’t something he’s ready to test. Another “gift” from the Ancients that he was unable to control or measure. 

“Hey Mopey Dick, you ready to go or what?” called Joe from the kitchen. 

“Yeah, just a sec!” Patrick hollered back. He made a last ditch effort to do _something_ with his hair. He hadn’t seen Pete in two weeks and wanted to at least appear presentable. That small victory was quickly overturned when Joe threw him a cap with flaps over the ears.

“It’s fucking cold outside, grab your boots too.” Joe usually wasn’t this bossy when he was trying to play caretaker, but Patrick knew he meant well. 

Mooshke, the playful yet clumsy creature that was Joe’s monster, started to butt it’s head at Champion, Patrick’s regal and fluffy dragon, as it urged the other to get moving. The white beast playfully nipped at the deer-like creature’s horns, careful not to get caught in the flame above its forehead. They pranced around each other down the stairs of the apartment until Mooshke plopped into the snow outside. Its tongue stuck out in a silly manner, almost as if it was taunting the other monster. Patrick couldn’t help but laugh and shake his head at the two of them. Joe glanced back and rolled his eyes. 

“C’mon ya dingus! We gotta get to the shop. Don’t you want some of those stale cheese pastries?” he asked his partner. 

Mooshke merely rolled on its back and kept its tongue out. Patrick laughed again. 

“Alright dude, you can chill here with Champ as long as you like, but I’m not about this cold shit.”

Champion raised an eye towards Patrick. It compacted some of the snow into a ball and nudged it forward. Patrick hesitated for a mere second before he grabbed the snowball and launched it at Joe’s head. 

Joe turned with a shocked look on his face. “You’re going to be thirty-five next year and you think it’s okay to throw a snowball at my head? Have you forgotten the rules of warfare?” Joe ran and launched himself at Patrick, tackling him to the ground. He easily kept Patrick pinned until the blonde man yelled in defeat. 

The rambunctious attitude of their monsters put both men in a good mood for the duration of their walk to the train. They chatted naturally during the ride, and Patrick nearly forgot why he was transferring to the red line. When the train stopped, Joe lightly shoved him to the door. 

_He’s being rather pushy today,_ Patrick noted when Joe gave him a two finger salute from his forehead as the door closed. Mooshke waggled his hoof at them before the train continued down the tracks. 

Patrick had been to the Network’s headquarters before, but he was never not fascinated with their extensive use of space. Even though it was housed in a large warehouse complex, the inside looked more like a space station or base camp. The walls were lined with control panels and LED lights. There were secret storage spaces built into the walls and even meeting rooms complete with executive looking chairs. He had never been given the full tour, but he knew about the medical wing, the gym/training grounds, the workshop, and even the barracks for overnight volunteers. He suspected that Andy had his own room and office on the premises, but he hasn't had the privilege of seeing them in person.

When Patrick first met Andy, he was pleasantly relieved to see Pete’s crew consisted of relatively normal individuals by comparison. He found that Andy and himself were quite similar. Both enjoyed learning about the world around them and were curious about the limitations of humanity. Where they differed was in their actions, namely that Andy took action on his theories and research, while Patrick merely published the work he transposed.

He was about to press the buzzer on the intercom, when he heard a crackle before Andy’s voice came through. “Patrick. It’s been a while. Pete’s very excited to see you. I’ll meet you in the main hallway. Don’t head to the med bay without me.” The loud hum of the entrance being unlocked followed shortly after and Patrick headed to the main hall, as instructed. 

It wasn’t long before Andy appeared, dressed in his usual black pants and a black T-shirt with the letters “xVx” stitched to the front pocket. Patrick removed his gloves to shake the man’s hand, but was surprised by the tight hug that Andy pulled him into. Zell, Andy’s blind rock powerhouse monster, held her fist out to Champion, who quickly bumped it with his own clawed hand. The very human gesture between the monsters never failed to amuse Patrick.

“Hey Hurley. What’s new in the neighborhoods?”

“We busted the some of the Sweet Priests gang in Westmont. Newer town in the Third District region, but the gangs there are scarier to tussle with than even the Cobras. Obsessed with doom and gloom in the most literal sense. At least we know the Cobra MO and prominent members. These guys are like ghosts, not even in the census yet cause it’s such a new territory,” Andy confided.

The question was only a pleasantry, but Andy knew that Patrick liked to hear about the disturbances as much as he liked stopping them. He figured that by making Patrick more aware of the happenings in Chicago, he would be more useful if he had a vision and understood the people in them. Any information Patrick might provide could help them save lives and souls.

“Oh and we’ve got a lot of reports coming from the Coasts, but that’s on the weird shit team to figure out what to do with it all. Any watery visions lately? Sea creatures calling out to you? The Siwren itself hanging out in your bathtub?”

“First of all, it’s called the Siren. Just cause it’s supposed to appear as a winged sea creature doesn’t mean you can just slip the W in like a subtle joke,” Patrick said as he pushed his glasses higher on the bridge of his nose. “Second, no, it has not made an appearance as of late, if at all.” 

“Okay okay, chill dude. No disrespect meant, that’s just what my family always called it. Let’s walk and talk,” Andy led him down the hall to the medical bay.

“About?” 

“What do you think?”

“Pete?”

“That’s a good starting point.”

Patrick sighed. Pete was a long conversation that he was never prepared to have. Starting simple seemed to be the best approach. “Is he... or I mean, how is he doing? He’s a lot quieter than he used to be, even through texts. Is that because of pain or the drugs or...”

“The pain is more likely, since we can’t really give him anything for it. It’s hard to say where it’s originating from since he says it hurts everywhere, but the core is my best unscientific guess. Considering, you know,” Andy raised an eyebrow at Patrick. 

He got the insinuation. Considering Pete had a fused soul inside him, which was Patrick’s doing to save him, it made sense that he’s experiencing aches and pains as he was slowly learning to manage the complexity of the fusion. He knew and Andy knew only because it was relevant to Pete’s recovery. 

He remembered a time, when Pete was still comatose, that he was asked to come in to The Network’s labs for some tests that Andy promised were for Pete’s benefit. Patrick hadn’t planned on saying anything about his actions, but Andy had one of those faces that he couldn’t help spilling his secrets to. It was a gift that the Ancients couldn’t have provided, but nonetheless extremely valuable. Patrick could see events across time, Joe could sense a change in the air of emotions and feelings, but Andy was naturally intuitive, understanding, and actually smart about how things and people worked. His empathy led Patrick to believe he could trust Andy with more than a smidgen of the truth that he wanted to tell Joe. Much more than he thought he could ever tell Pete. So he told him, in a very incoherent and blathering manner, what happened to Pete in the Howls.

“Aren’t you worried that this will just put more stress on his system?” Patrick asked. The last thing he wanted for Pete was another long recovery period, especially since he had no idea if Andy’s plan would work. 

“Oh, I’m always worried when it comes to Pete. But I’m not sure what to do that will make it any easier?”

Patrick thought for a moment, again weighing the pros and cons of speaking. “There might be something he can do.”

He looked towards the observatory area where Pete was already being wired up. Patrick could tell that Pete was agitated and nervous. His legs kept bouncing and he clicks a small fidget cube. As Patrick walked in, Pete looked up and his muscle slacked slightly.

“Don’t tell me to chill; I’ve already heard it a million times from Andy,” Pete said. 

“Wasn’t going to,” Patrick responded simply.

“Good,” Pete watched the attendants and doctors preparing for the reattachment surgery. He motioned for Patrick to come closer, and pulled on his arm like a child would to a parent. “Come up here for a sec, Trick.”

Patrick looked dubiously at the less than twin-sized hospital bed, but he has done weirder and worse things than sit in close proximity to Pete, so he obliged the request. They both pulled their knees up and sat pretzel-style, face to face.

“Any words of wisdom would be great right now,” Pete said softly, leaning in close to Patrick, even though they were already less than a foot apart. 

“What are you most concerned about?”

“Oh, you know. Just having a physical and mental breakdown. What else is new?” Pete gave Patrick his signature grin, but he seemed to know that eyes betrayed his true anxieties.

“Stay in control. This is your body Pete, you have a say in what happens to it.”

“Unless the other guy decides this is a bad idea. I don’t suppose you know this is gonna go?”

“That’s not really how this works. I can’t choose what I see,” Patrick reminded Pete as he tapped his temple. 

“Oh right. I suppose you wouldn’t have showed up if you already knew the outcome.”

“The future is -“

“Always in flux. I’ve learned that much from you by now, jeeze.”

Patrick held out his hand for Pete to take. When he did, he gave Pete’s fingers a tight squeeze, just so Pete could actually feel their contact. Pete squeezed back just a bit tighter. Patrick’s brain momentarily dragged through the dirt as he recalled Pete’s grip on another part of him. _This is NOT the time for that,_ he thought to himself.

It was almost like Pete had been reading his mind as he lightly placed his lips on Patrick’s forehead. As he bowed his head, their noses touched and Patrick couldn’t help the way that his body reacted, despite his brain yelling, _not here not now nope nope nope._ His head tilted slightly to meet Pete’s lips with his own, hands lifting to touch the other man’s face and hair while both of their mouths parted to let tongues touch tentatively. Pete was the first one to break the connection, but Patrick quickly pulled him in one more time. Though he appeared to be acting with a purpose, he didn’t feel in total control of his body.

He felt a soft white glow radiating from his eyes, and quickly closed them - thanking the Ancients for allowing him that slight movement - in an attempt to hide it. Patrick could feel words forming that he had no chance to think through. 

He whispered close to Pete’s ear, “You need to feel it happening. You wanted to feel, so feel it. Let go of the little voice that fights the pain. This is going to hurt because it has to. But it’s going to get better, Pete. Accept the help you’ve been given. You’re only trapped until you let yourself become free.” 

He waited until the heat faded from his sockets before he leaned back to face Pete properly. He tried to hide his own look of confusion - the words came out of nowhere and they tasted foreign on his tongue. Still, he did his best to give Pete some extra comfort as he said, “That’s all I have. I know you want more - so much more from me than this. But this is all I can give you right now, and I’m not even sure if it’s enough.”

Pete nodded silently. They shared one last squeeze before Patrick walked out of the room. He ignored the quizzical stare from Andy as he put his head in his hands and sat in one of the waiting room chairs. Pete’s sludge creature gurgled and narrowed its eyes at Patrick on the other side of the room, while Champion emitted a low but dignified growl as if to say, “Don’t do anything stupid, stupid.”

Once Pete was fully strapped in to the bed and the machines start to whir, all Patrick could do was wait and watch everything that happens. Pete had never been one for medical treatments, and only trusted Andy to administer them if necessary. The impersonal presence of the plastic and chrome machinery with minimal human contact felt agonizing even to Patrick. A woman in scrubs used a thin surgical knife to open the skin at Pete’s shoulder stump. She pulled it back to his neck to provide as much access to the twisted veins and arteries as possible. Pete didn’t seem to mind the clipping and clamping, but he visibly winced as the tiny needles wove in and out of the muscle tissues. His jaw set as the hours passed. Old bones were nailed to new ones. Slowly, the colors returned to Pete’s mismatched face and started to flow to his new appendages. It’s only near the end when the doctor began to stitch together his skin that Pete strained against his bonds in protest.

“That’s Andy’s job!” He exclaimed. “You can’t do this! Don’t fucking touch me!” His monster started to twitch it’s tail rapidly like an irritated animal, yellow eyes flashing back and forth between its vessel and the offending woman.

Andy quickly activated the intercom and said as calmly as possible, “I’m right here Pete. Patrick too. You’ll have to let her finish though. You’re doing really such a good job, and this is the last part. You’re going to be fine.”

Pete pouted, but nodded, and turned his head to Patrick. Patrick flashes the thumbs up signal. The woman worked as quickly as possible while remaining precise and not hesitating when she heard growls from both Pete and his monster. She finishes by attaching a bag of plasma and blood to the new arm. 

“You’re going to need to take it really easy for the next few weeks. Only the smallest of PT should be allowed. If the data skews in his favor, proceed with caution,” she said while wrapping a thick bandage around the arm. “No unnecessary movements. Honestly I’d splint it, but I’m slightly concerned about the circulation. We don’t need any necropsy issues.”

“Thank you Meredith,” Andy said as he opens the door. 

Patrick rushed past him to get a good look at Pete. His eyes darted up and down the new skin. It was a shade of mauve that matched the blue-eyed side of Pete’s face. There were still extensive tattoos, just no longer branding him in simple flash. Instead there was a detailed graveyard scene from All Beasts Day, a keyhole that read “Be Free”, and the words “Stay Gold” embedded into his skin. Words and pictures that fit who Pete was and had become. It was much more intricate, and dare he say beautiful, than the art on his original arm. Patrick felt a hint of delight at the prospect of drawing new maps across the soft skin. 

“How are you feeling?” Patrick asked.

“Fucking fantastic. Everything hurts, but it’s better than feeling nothing.” Pete muttered with a small grimace on his face.

Patrick reached for his new hand and squeezes the new fingers like he had before with the opposite hand. Pete’s grimace deepened, but slowly morphs into a dopey wide smile at the contact. 

“I felt that,” he said simply.

It’s all Patrick needed to know to feel comfortable leaving him in Andy’s care. Not that he didn’t trust Andy, but he would have been less willing if Pete didn’t feel anything after five hours of surgery. As he turned to leave, Pete called out, “Where ya going Pattycakes?”

Patrick inwardly flinches. It’s not that he necessarily wants to leave, but he did call out of work twice this week already. Any more and it would be unlikely that he’d still have a job.

“I have a translation deadline that I’ve been putting off. Kinda hard to concentrate when I’m worried about you,” Patrick gave a small laugh in an attempt to mask how true the words were. “I’ll be back as often as I can.”

Pete nodded. “Often” was likely to mean three times a week if he was lucky, but he was grateful that Patrick continued to make time for him. Just him. When Patrick leaned in for another hug, Pete could feel his strange little heart beating a little bit faster than usual. He wished he could have had Patrick’s lips on his fingertips - and other places, if he was being honest with himself - instead of just his own lips, but he was happy to have any sort of contact. He supposed that he couldn’t be too greedy, since he finally had a taste that he hasn’t enjoyed since the Demon Door. 

**One year earlier**

Patrick and Pete had been trading whispered barbs back and forth for hours while following the Urie boy to their destination. It annoyed the hell out of Joe and Andy, but it kept the mood lighter than it should have been for the situation.

Brendon insisted that they stay at least twenty-five miles from the gate, as anything further might have them waking up in the ever-elusive but extremely deadly bogs. They were all grateful to have one more night to take in the mortal world in case they didn’t make it back. No one wanted to face the Big Bad any sooner than they had to, so they set up the pop-up camper that Andy converted into a bunker suite for the five of them. Andy handed each of them a meal pack and reminded them not to stray too far from the campsite.

It was expected that the area would feel more eerie than any of them were used to, but Pete was enchanted by the night sky and thought nothing of the prickling air or the unplaceable scent that lingered in it. He didn’t recall ever seeing stars in the city, or even in the lands he wandered before he came to Chicago. He looked up in awe at the never-ending expanse of glowing dots. In a way, it reminded him of his original home. The Howls were full of caverns and tunnels connecting the hive to its creator. The holes sometimes gleamed with the black ooze and thousands of eyeballs reflecting from an unknown light source. Despite the vastness of the realm, once Pete became conscious of himself, it felt like the whole world was waiting to cave in on him. But this world? It was so different in the best way possible. In the city, Pete was always trying to survive and he had little time to enjoy the beauty of the mortal realm, especially since it was typically cold and grey. Out here, in what Joe called “the Outer Burbs”, there was still danger to be wary of, but far more beauty and time to take it in.

As Pete marveled at the world above him, he heard a creak on the steps to the camper’s roof. He abruptly went into defense mode.

“Pete! It’s just me! Just Patrick,” a voice in the dark called out to him. 

Pete relaxed slightly. With everything they had been through together, there was still something unknown between them. It’s a feeling he can’t shake, only one he can hide in the back of his mind. But it always re-emerged when Patrick’s face was inches from his own, lit in a beautiful post-sex glow. It reared it’s head when their arguments turned into them angrily trying to shove each other’s tongues down their throats. Or when Joe made a good joke for once and Pete just absorbed the image of Patrick’s full-body laugh.

In the last few months, they had become closer. Maybe it was their shared life-and-death experience of the Gala, or maybe it was the feeling that everything they knew would be coming to an end soon. Patrick didn’t concede to Pete’s lewd and desperate advances the way he once did, nor did he whole-heartedly fight them off. Instead, he gave soft kisses to Pete’s temple or gently pushed the hair out his eyes when Pete initiated the contact. At first, the whole change in their interactions threw Pete off. He understood - and enjoyed - their “whatever” they had once the initial line had been initially crossed. Their teeth on teeth, nails on skin, fights and fucks of passion where both came out feeling victorious and let down all at once. He grew to expect and even appreciate the softer Patrick. Once in a while he would even reciprocate, tentatively mimicking the light strokes and touches. It all became lips on lips and fingertips ghosting over the other’s skin. And the unknown feeling spiked more prominently in his brain every time it happened.

Here at the end of the road underneath real stars, Pete felt the unknown pull at him intently. His irregular heart beat was in double-time and he felt like sparks might fly at from his deadened fingertips. 

“Fuck ‘Trick! What are you doing up? You’ve actually gotta sleep like everyone else,” Pete said with a bit more than a hint of concern. 

“Couldn’t sleep. I knew you’d be up still. Scoot!” Patrick responded while stifling a yawn.

They sat in silence, content with staring up at the stars. Patrick snuck a look at Pete, who was chewing at his bottom lip. He wanted to offer some sort of comforting words, but he had none. None he could say without spilling out his guts about things like “potential” and “possibilities”. 

“I don’t want this to end,” Pete sighed.

Patrick rolled on his side to face him. “Me either man. It would be nice to stay in this moment forever.”

“No,” Pete shook his head. “No, I mean _this._ Me, you, us, we.” He turned on his own side and pointed a finger between them. 

“Pete, we don’t-“ 

“I don’t want to die Patrick. I don’t want to become him. I like it here. I belong here.” 

“I know Pete but-“

“Shut up for a second,” Pete leaned closer, just short of where their lips would meet. “I... I can’t believe I’m gonna say this. I don’t get sentimental, you know that ain’t me. But all the same, I’d be pretty bummed if, like, after everything, I couldn’t... come back to you.” 

Patrick closed the gap between their lips and Pete closed his eyes. He could still see stars.

“All we have for sure are the moments we exist in, and all we end up as are memories,” Patrick said. “As much as we try to arrange or change the future to our advantage, the world will always find its own way to even the odds and endings.” 

He cupped a hand around Pete’s cheek. “What we’ve had is something crazy. Terrible at times, definitely ridiculous. But if we make it through this, I want to keep making it better. I’m standing on your side here and now, and I’ll be by your side as long as I can.”

Pete grinned toothily as he pulled Patrick to him once more. He breathed in his scent deeply and held him tightly, as if it would be the last embrace they would ever share. 

**At present**

Pete still held on to that moment as tightly as he held Patrick that night. When he reflected on it, he wondered if his life did actually depend on those last few moments they shared. From the look and feel of it, Patrick was still on his side and their “whatever” was still something he wanted. The weird shit between them would pass like it had before; he just needed to get better. He just needed to _be_ better. 

XxX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from “Where Did The Party Go?” - Fall Out Boy


	5. Catch the vibe we just can’t forget

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m, like, going in circles in my mind trying to get it all out, but -“
> 
> “Like an ouroboros,” Joe interrupted. “You know, the snake eating it’s tail. Uniting the conscious and unconscious and all that shit.”

“Patrick is _such_ a dick sometimes,” Joe loudly complained.

“What did he do now?” asked Pete as he tried to squeeze a pink ball in his new hand.

“Like, I made coffee this morning, like usual cause his ass _always_ needs five more fucking minutes. And he comes into the kitchen just in a super bad mood. Won’t talk about it, just pouting and being all mysterious. He’s insufferable enough when he’s mysterious and a good mood, but in a bad mood, it’s so annoyinggggg,” Joe drew out the last letter as he sat on a larger ball of his own, rocking back and forth on his heels.

“Was it a vision or somethin’?” 

“He refused to tell me. I don’t think so, cause Mooshke would have felt it and I didn’t get that kind of a read from him. Like, he was absolutely radiating green and brown tones, which is more like discomfort and anger.”

“Right,” Pete said as he attempted to squeeze his fingers again. 

Andy had him start physical therapy a week ago. He was expected to do arm curls and wrist stretches, followed by six sets of cane stretches, followed again pushing items across a table, and ending with four reps of circle movements. The latter made Pete feel absolutely ridiculous. He could move his arm - he wasn’t paralyzed for fuck’s sake - he was just out of practice in making it work the way he wanted it to. 

One time, Joe had stopped by to check in on how things were going. When he saw Pete making windmills with his arms, he doubled over in laughter. Before Pete had time to be embarrassed, Andy punched Joe in the arm and told him he could work out alongside them if he wasn’t going to be constructive. Joe came back the next day with work out clothes and a sweatband holding back the thick brown curls.

“He doesn’t have to carry the whole world on his back. I’ve told him this a million times. But he’s all, ‘I don’t know if that’s true or not,’ then doesn’t say anything else about it. Like what does that even meeean?!?” Joe whined. “Oh, hey, let’s switch to pushoffs, my ass is getting sore.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Ugh, I’m gonna need a smoothie after this. And not one of this fucking grass ones that Andy is always drinking. Yuck.”

Pete nodded absentmindedly. He been getting better and a little bit stronger with every exercise. He didn’t mind doing them. In fact, pushoffs from the walls were a favorite of his. He was just thankful that it wasn’t a writing day. His handwriting remained atrocious, as he had difficulty keeping his grip on pens. If he could just hold the fucking pen, he wouldn’t have minded it so much. Andy told him it would be good for him to write as a different sort of exercise. Something to get the thoughts out of his head and on to something tangible. Something he could touch. The irony was not lost on him. He still had difficulty feeling anything with his new fingertips, so writing to physically feel things he felt inside was much like a dog chasing its tail - a seemingly impossible task.

“I’d rather drink that grass shit than do more writing. I don’t think I’m getting anywhere with it,” Pete said, hoping that Joe would pick up on what he was feeling. “I’m, like, going in circles in my mind trying to get it all out, but -“

“Like an ouroboros,” Joe interrupted. “You know, the snake eating it’s tail. Uniting the conscious and unconscious and all that shit.”

Pete didn’t get the reference, but he knew that anything that had to do with snakes was inherently bad. He simply nodded and continued his train of thought. “I keep doing all this stuff to make things better, the training, the therapy, the writing, but it’s not enough. Why isn’t it enough?”

“I don’t know man! D’you ever feel like you’re going through the motions of everything? Like, are you really putting in the effort? Maybe it’s a soul thing where you gotta put your entire existence into this one thing to accomplish what you’re trying. Maybe you’re not paying attention to something or too much attention to something else. Someone else?” Joe waggled his eyes suggestively.

“You’re just saying that because you don’t want me to fuck your best friend and roommate,” Pete growled without malice. 

“I’m already years late on that argument, but I don’t care about that anymore dude. Whatever you and Patrick do is your deal, just as long as it’s not loud when I’m home or in public where I have to cover my virginal eyes or ears,” Joe snickered. He almost seemed proud of himself for being so chill about the “whatever” that Pete and Patrick had.

Joe pushed himself from the wall a final time. “I’m serious though Pete. You gotta work on yourself before you can really offer what you have to anyone else. Patrick will probably definitely care about you no matter what, but you should be a little more selfish while you are getting better.”

“Probably definitely? Thanks for the fucking great review. Ya know, being selfish is what got me in this mess in the first place,” Pete gave a small half smile, not out of regret, but of recognition of the truth in the statement. 

“Not gonna argue with that. Smoothie time?” Joe reached around Pete’s neck to pull him close. Even though Pete was visibly older than him, Joe still treated him more like a little brother when he was in the mood for dealing with Pete’s antics. He ruffled the other man’s long hair playfully. Pete was just happy that Joe didn’t hate him like he used to. It was hard for him to understand the unusual touchy actions, but they weren’t the punch to the jaw or outright ignorance that he had grown to expect from their interactions before. He’d take shoulder punches and hair ruffles from Joe any day - playful enough that he was not tempted to bite the hand that teased - and felt fine with dishing it back. 

Pete also appreciated that they could both complain about Patrick in a serious and light-hearted way. He couldn’t deny that Joe had a better perspective of Patrick’s character or day to day normalities than he did; it was nice to hear that Patrick was more or less just as aggravating to him as he was to Joe when it came to visions, monsters, secrets, and half-truths. It was especially nice to get Joe’s take on Patrick’s visions and call out the bullshit when he could sense it.

For a while, a sense of normalcy settled the four of them into benign complacency. The winter season* passed without much incident, aside from the increases of Andy’s finances, Joe’s trust, and Patrick’s love - all thanks to Pete’s gifts. Pete adapted to his disability and he became more in tune with his sense of touch. He kept up the exercises, the writing, and Andy happily sent him on missions once he was fit to fight when necessary. 

Andy still monitored Pete’s existence, but with the city expanding, new lands meant new turf wars and new disasters were waiting to happen. Ever the vigilant one, he had his eyes and ears everywhere, and never took a day off. Pete’s donation to the Network’s funding allowed him to monitor the southern burbs that had popped up in the past year, but he also had more resources to devote to the ever-present “weird shit” that hung over the city like a rain cloud.

Joe felt in his heart that the proverbial “other shoe” in their lives could drop at any time, so he made plans to take time off from his coffee shop to start researching the Beasts of the Wild back near his childhood home. Pete provided him with a notebook full of instances where his former family raised havoc in the suburban towns across the concrete prairies. Joe emailed his old friends and set up interviews with families of those who were taken. He even took to researching the phenomena of missing children and asked Patrick for any translation help he could provide.

Patrick was fairly content to not receive any new or pertinent visions. It was all just flashbacks of his life and reruns of a future from differing perspectives. It was as if his mind attempted to catch something it missed the first time he experienced the front line in the park. When his visions weren’t set on repeat, Patrick would occasionally find himself in the past during the Golden Age of Beasts. The constant back and forth between the memories and the stories didn’t do him any favors when he tried to find the real after being shaken by a vision.

Despite the ever-present worries about the future, Patrick was happy that he didn’t have to stress over the topic of himself and Pete. They never officially defined themselves as a couple, but Joe began referring to them as a “togethership”, so the term stuck. Since Pete’s injuries healed, he spent most of his time at Patrick’s apartment. 

When he came over, he typically just wanted snuggles or to watch a movie. Sometimes he’d sleep over, other times he would just sit outside on the fire escape and look up at the night sky, scanning for the stars they found in the Burbs. They both had an affinity for visually engrossing things, so on occasion, Patrick would take Pete to the art or science museums near his work. They also both enjoyed the simplicity of the other’s company. Patrick could be engrossed in translating various texts, but with the slightest bit of goading, he’d whisper words of adoration or softly giggle with amusement in Pete’s ears when they were together. Pete was equally enchanted by the feeling of Patrick’s soft skin beneath his fingers and he busied himself with act of drawing invisible maps over his body. He’d drape himself over Patrick like a human blanket and smile at the protests of his slug-like behavior.

They never claimed it was love, but it was the closest they could get. Patrick refused to say it; to him, calling it love meant it could be destroyed, betrayed, or forsaken. He wasn’t ready to reveal himself and his secrets to Pete; he wasn’t ready to risk losing him. He knew he had to say something eventually. He had promised him he’d say it in the new year. Surely the swell of happiness that Patrick felt at seeing Pete’s face light up with the promise could outweigh any feelings of trepidation he had over the whole ordeal.

Yet despite the begging from Joe and sad looks from Pete, Patrick still couldn’t make the verbal leap from his present stance. Something was holding him back, and it didn’t feel quite like himself. He felt like he needed a sign before putting it out into the world. Out to the people who were his world.

After one particularly stressful day at work, Patrick arrived back at the empty apartment, content to do nothing with the rest of his evening. Joe had left only a few weeks before and he was happy to have a bit of freedom from feeling like a child who might burn themselves on the oven rack. He leaned back on the couch pillows and closed his eyes for only a moment before being whisked away to another world of darkness. And dampness. 

The air smelled stale and prickled his nose. As his eyes adjusted to the barely lit area, he found that he held a flashlight. It caught a glint of something in the distance of the cavern he was in. At that point, he had picked up on the cold and noticed the stalagmites giving off a dim glow, untouched by human hands. Once he reached the source of the reflection, he immediately recognized the glyph symbol for “beast”. He carefully brushed his hand against the wall in hopes of finding more words. Before long, an entire phrase emerged from the chalky stone before him.

“The end of the greatest Ancient Beast shall bring forth a genesis of all shades lost and forgotten, set free from their prison, ready to make the world in their stead.”

As Patrick read the prophecy, new words began to form in the rocks beneath his fingers. They felt and looked quite different than the carvings he revealed by himself. The words appeared as if someone had been writing them on a piece of paper in front of him. It took a moment for Patrick to realize he wasn’t translating anything. The words were in plain English.

“Come find me by the southern stars of summer, close to the seas of solitude.”

Patrick brightened a bit at that. Instructions were helpful, even if they were cryptic as fuck. He turned to leave, but the crunch of rocks leaving new marks grabbed his attention once more. 

“Oh, and Patrick? Mind the tide. The hybrid abomination won’t come near the water, so he won’t be much help in saving your life if it swallows you. Take this as your sign to be honest about who you are, what he is, and why he is.”

Patrick woke up seconds later to his own gasps of breath trying to gather enough air to jolt him into proper consciousness. It didn’t take long for him to realize that his attempts to catch his breath occurred for a completely different reason than it being his natural reaction to having a vision.

XxX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *refers to “Winter Soulstace in the Windy City”.  
> Title from “I’ve Been Waiting” -Makkonnen ft. Lil Peep and Fall Out Boy


	6. The Truth Hurts Worse Than Anything I Could Bring Myself to Do (To You)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: picking, self-abuse, self-harm.
> 
> “Even if you became the Big Bad and if I had to fight you, I would still -“
> 
> “Still what? Would have been sad while you stabbed me in the back?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> //For those of you reading, thanks for sticking with a sporadic update schedule. This one was just hard to write and the next one after it is gonna be super plot and dialogue heavy. So buckle up, this is where the real fun begins.\\\P

Patrick sat up straight, clearly alone in his room, but he didn’t feel alone in mind. The walls spoke to him in his dream; he heard the intonation and inflections of the words. He was already awake and aware of his surroundings. He lacked the usual sense of the air in his lungs being squeezed out, the nausea of dizzying headaches whirling his sight, and there was no heat at his neck rising to his cheeks or forehead.

He walked briskly to the bathroom, just to be sure he wasn’t having a typical episode and just was getting better at handling the comeback. But no, there weren’t any glowing white shapes dancing around his body. He didn’t even need his glasses to see that. He splashed water from the sink into his face. It’s refreshing, but not cleansing. He couldn’t shake the feeling of wrongness from his skin or his soul. The dream prickled at the front of his mind. 

_Not a dream._

Not a vision either. It was a message, bound by the sea - literal buried treasure. He wasn’t sure if it was a treasure he necessarily wanted to seek out. The sender called him by name.

Patrick sank into the tattered couch and opened a new page in his journal. The words of the prophetic prose resurfaced on the paper by his own hand.

_The end of the greatest Ancient Beast shall bring forth a genesis of all shades lost and forgotten, set free from their prison, ready to make the world in their stead._

It was similar to the prophecy he had about what would happen if he let Pete survive. And if he had listened to Joe - actually, truly listened to Joe - making the leap between his cause and the absolutely ridiculously unfair effect would have been much more advantageous to everyone. He shouldn’t have waited for his visions to spell it out for him. Joe was good at being right, as much as he hated to admit it.

Not for the first time in the last few weeks, Patrick really needed his best friend. He missed Joe badgering him into saying more than he meant to, and actually make him think about what it could mean. But no, he had to drive Joe away because he didn’t want to believe that he was right. He had to ask for proof of what he refused to admit was the truth, and in the face of pre-existing evidence. He didn’t want there to be any more battles, he didn’t want to drag everyone with him down whatever rabbit hole emerged from his mind and into reality.

But Joe was right. It was always going to be the four of them up against the end of the world. The Ancients could easily intervene at any time, but they were going to let nature take its course and let the world work itself out. It felt like a test of worthiness, as if their last encounter with The Big Bad hadn’t shown enough of their abilities. 

None of it mattered. 

The message from the sea had been received loud and clear: Patrick was supposed to follow this mystery with his friends and solve it to stop the world from ending. He needed everyone on the same page, and if he wasn’t honest with himself or the others, the lack of trust would break them apart. He wouldn’t be able to defer the truth any longer.

Patrick rubbed his eyes as he reached for his phone. 

_Pete, I need to talk to you tomorrow. Or rather today since it’s 1:30 in the morning. Can you swing by the apartment later?_

He didn’t expect a reply two minutes later, but he couldn’t admit to being surprised by it. 

**what’s up Trick?**

_I have to talk to you. About you. I had a dream thing and I have to tell you everything about that night._

**(...)**

Pete was rarely at a loss for words when they spoke. As such, watching the anxiety-inducing typing ellipsis blink on the screen made Patrick’s fingers sweat enough to nearly drop the phone. 

**i can b there in 30min**

That phrase is enough to make Patrick actually drop his phone.

_Pete, you don’t need to do that! We should both get some sleep. Let’s do this later._

**but ur not asleep and im not asleep. Let’s be not asleep together**

He couldn’t argue with that logic, nor would he typically want to when it came to Pete. But he was very much in favor of prolonging the inevitable that day.

**im already on my way so u cant talk me out of it. Don’t make me waste train money.**

_It wouldn’t be wasted if you didn’t come!_

**when have I ever not come? 😏Hehe**

_Fuck you Wentz._

**gladly but not 2nite. Srs biz niz**

Patrick was already exhausted and Pete hadn’t even arrived yet. But true to form, he was at the apartment when he promised to be. He unlocked the window near the fire escape once he heard the soft clanging of shoes on the old iron landings and steps. Pete’s face appeared moments later.

“Hey,” he said with his natural Cheshire-like grin. Patrick could imagine it with his eyes closed.

“Hey yourself. On the Ancients, how did you get here so fast? Most of the trains and buses don’t make that many stops at night.”

“I’ll tell you my secrets if you tell me yours,” said Pete in a sing-song voice. 

Pete’s monster chose that moment to crawl in through the window behind Pete and let out a hiss towards Patrick. It snuck into Champion’s bed, which did not go unnoticed by the other monster. Champion began to make indignant squawking noises of discontent over the other creature’s rudeness. A cacophonous back and forth between the two ensued that Patrick didn’t even realize he was engrossed in until Pete waved a hand in front of him.

“Earth to Patrick, what is your status?” Pete asked.

“Tired,” He replied as he turned to face Pete. “You sure you can’t wait until the morning?” 

“Make some coffee, we’re doing this now,” Pete said with an air of finality. 

Patrick ignored the suggestion and motioned for Pete to sit. He took his own chair near a tiny desk by the window while Pete ungracefully flopped on the bed.

“So... what do you remember of the fight. Like actually remember, not what anyone else has told you?”

“The battle. Andy and Joe were using the guns to keep back the other drones and harvesters and workers. Keeping them from us. I was an idiot and just went for him. Shit, I was such an idiot,” Pete smiled stupidly at the memory. “I wasn’t paying attention to you, but I should have, like I was supposed to. I thought I was actually making a difference because he kept backing down. Until he actually acknowledged me and I kind of froze. And he grabbed me. Then I saw you and you were like, really mad. Like proper mad, not ‘I wanna fuck you’ mad.”

“Damnit Pete, I thought we had been moving past that,” Patrick rolled his eyes with a smile.

“Yeah, but you still have a look sometimes. Anyway, it wasn’t long until the Big Bad started ripping me apart and tearing my arm off. It hurt so much,” Pete recalled with a faraway look in his eyes. “Everything else is just flashes. There was the purple light. You were next to me, I think? I couldn’t feel or see anything physically, but I could sense you were there. Then there was nothing. I mean, I saw you for a second once we were out of there, or maybe before? But the next thing I know I’m lying in a med bed at Andy’s.”

Patrick opened his mouth to speak, but the words struggled to get out. “I... I’m sorry Pete. I just... I don’t even know...”

Pete took Patrick’s hands into his own. “We both know you did something. Tell me what you did.”

“You’re going to hate me so much, Pete.”

Pete gripped Patrick’s hands a little tighter. He didn’t say anything, but it felt like a promise being transferred through the skin. _I won’t_ what was Patrick prayed for, but he knew that would be a lie.

Patrick took a deep breath and let it out with the words rushing past his lips. “It was me, but it also wasn’t.” He powered through Pete’s blank look.

“You knew about the prophecy. How you were supposed to take the place of the Big Bad, and the world could continue the same as it always has until the next time a drone defies its creator. I didn’t tell you about the second vision I had. The one where you got to live.”

“Umm why not? That was probably something I would have liked to know. Maybe I wouldn’t have been so risky,” Pete’s voice rose with an alarmed tone.

“I couldn’t. You couldn’t have done anything different, and let’s be honest, when do you stick to the plan anyway?” Patrick shook his head again, “If I told you, what if you decided not to go at all? Then we’d be at odds with the universe, and who knows what might have happened with everything building up to that moment. No, you couldn’t know. It was my decision: the good of humanity or the life of someone I care about.”

“Hmmmm,” Pete said. “Well, _I_ think you made the right decision.” 

“I was supposed to,” Patrick replied as he turned his head from Pete.

“What’s that _supposed to_ mean?” 

“I was supposed to chose humanity, Pete. That’s what they - the Ancients - charged me with. Doing the right thing for the rest of the world, not the right thing for me. You were going to live either way, but one way was with me and the other was without me. I...” Patrick inhaled sharply and chanced a look back at Pete, “I made up my mind the night we were out looking at the stars.”

Pete’s face darkened as the memory rose to the top of his mind. It was one of his favorite memories of his time spent with Patrick. And Patrick was about to ruin it and any other moments they might have had together.

“So it was a lie then, when you said that you wanted to make us better. When you said you wanted to be by my side as long as you could, you didn’t expect it to last. You knew exactly when you couldn’t be by my side anymore,” Pete’s eyes narrowed dangerously, almost daring Patrick to deny it.

This was the part that Patrick was dreading, and why he kept quiet for so long. “Yes. I lied to you Pete. You were collateral damage. My heart was collateral damage. I told myself the world would be safe, everything would go back to normal, and none of us would have to deal with all this - “ Patrick paused and gesticulated aimlessly, “stuff, you know? I wanted to go back to my boring old life where nothing out of the ordinary happened and I didn’t have to have nightmare visions anymore. Or worry about some gang that you have a seriously heated rivalry with.”

They sat in silence for a moment as Pete processed Patrick’s words.

“You have to know though, Pete. It wasn’t because I didn’t care about you though. I couldn’t and can’t imagine an outcome where I didn’t care about you. Even if you became the Big Bad and if I had to fight you to save the world or some other bullshit, I would still -“

“Still what? Would have been sad while you stabbed me in the back? That’s not very caring at all!” Pete seethed. “You don’t know how you would have felt in the future; trust me on this, whatever you thought you could do or feel is nothing compared to what actually ends up happening. I thought I’d be able to handle getting a new limb attached to me, handle being whole again, but I almost didn’t go through with it because I didn’t want to end up more broken than I already was!” 

“You’re absolutely right,” Patrick said quickly. “I thought I knew how it would go down: have Andy and Joe destroy the colony, give you a fighting chance, and Champion would deliver the final blow, leaving just enough life in you to bond with whatever was left of the Big Bad. Just like I saw in my vision. Just how it was supposed to end. But I didn’t want that at all for you. I didn’t want it for us.”

Pete was still fuming and his face was flushed with anger. He bit his lip disapprovingly. Out of the corner of his eye, Patrick could see Pete’s monster becoming more interested in the conversation; its front facing eyes stared at Patrick, teeth bared, and it gurgled loudly. Once again, Patrick was thankful that it really couldn’t do much when Champion was sitting on it. He was even more thankful that Pete hadn’t interrupted him yet. He continued his confession.

“You know how your monster can break out of your body under certain circumstances? I mean, you know specifically, even if you don’t remember being present for it, you know it’s happened,” Patrick said nervously.

“Yeah?”

“Well, that’s sort of what happened to me. Everything went according to plan, all Champion had to do was to blast you both into near nothingness. But then I saw the Big Bad rip you apart. I watched as he gorged on the souls you kept from him. It was terrifying. It was intentional. It wasn’t fair. All I could do was watch and pity the Big Bad for what it became, and for what you would become.” 

“I never needed pity from you or anyone else.”

“Yes, I know Pete, but it made me sad to think that everything you were working for was pointless. And that it could all be taken away in a single moment. I remembered the promise under the stars, and thought of the best case scenario. A future I could have with you. A future we could make our own. A future where whatever the consequences were, we’d face them together. Where I didn’t have to betray you and sleep alone and ashamed of what happened. But it was too late. Champion had already delivered the blast.”

“So what, did your monster rip out of your skin and break your vessel? Did you lose your consciousness to the guy? Did he have more compassion for me than you?” Pete spat out each question like an accusation.

“No... that’s what I’m trying to tell you. When I saw you and felt all of those things, Champion and I kind of... became the same thing. Like our souls fused or something. I don’t know how to explain it, but I was in his body, using his abilities. I could SEE my body below me. I could see the thing trickling over to you and I just thought ‘no!’ And we... I destroyed the Big Bad before he could sink into your skin. You were already pretty fucked up from the first blast, and I had no idea what I was doing. I could feel your soul, and it hurt so much. So I reached into myself and broke off a piece of my soul. I didn’t even really think about it or the mechanics of it. You already had my heart, so it was all I could give to you and hope that you’d open your eyes again. And you did! Just for a few seconds, but that’s all hope needs.”

“And then what?”

“What do you mean, ‘and then what’? And then we escaped. Brendon was acting different, but we managed to pull him out of his incoherent babbling and back to our plane. You opened your eyes one last time before they took you away.” 

Pete still looked unimpressed and like he was about to leave.

“Like, what the actual fuck Patrick? You’re saying one night you thought ‘thanks for the memories’ and the next you thought ‘you’re my picket fence’? I might have a high tolerance for bullshit, but your stench is overpowering. I can’t even stand to look at you right now. I’m outta here.”

“Wait! Can you stay until the morning? Maybe you’ll... maybe we can talk about it. Joe isn’t here and...” Patrick trails off as he reaches for Pete.

“And what, you need your personal security blanket?” He hissed out the words incredulously before glancing up back towards the window. “I... I don’t think that’s a great idea.”

He stared down at Patrick’s hand around his wrist and slowly pulled himself out of the grip. “Patrick. I trusted you, we can’t just act like nothing happened here. I might not be completely human, but I’m still a person. You’re telling me you wanted to leave me for dead, but changed your mind at the last minute and now a part of you is inside me? No, that’s not something I can just forget about over a sleepover or snuggles.”

“Pete, I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you sooner, but you’re reacting exactly how I thought you would. I would have kept you completely unaware if it meant we could be happy together,” Patrick started to say.

“Is that all you’re sorry about?” Pete finally looked away from Patrick. He had always thought that the other man looked good on his knees, but not like this with a sob in his throat and desperation in his eyes. Weak. Powerful but weak. The dichotomy of Patrick Stump was laid out in front of him and it made him sick. “Were we really happy before this?”

“No, but no! I’m sorry about everything! Putting you through this, lying in the first place, having you suffer through therapies, it’s all my fault, I know that!”

“How can I trust you with anything ever again? You didn’t care about me at my worst, when I needed you to be there with me.”

Pete couldn’t stand to be in the moment any longer. Without another word, he threw open the window and climbed out as quickly as possible. He stole a final glance at Patrick before shimmying down the fire escape ladder. 

Patrick couldn’t read the expression, but it wasn’t a good one. He reluctantly closed the window. After ten minutes, it became clear Pete wasn’t coming back that night.

“Might as well get the other revelation taken care of,” he said out loud as he started to text Joe.

_Hey. I fucked up really bad with Pete. Call me when you get service._

———————————————

_”And how does that make you feel?”_

Pete could almost picture a dark skinned woman in Andy’s study asking him. Andy told him to use the therapist’s questions as a jumping off point when he couldn’t think of anything to write about. Even though the day was not devoted to writing, Pete still needed a daily journal entry before tossing off to sleep. Even if it was 4am. Even if he had no real intentions of sleeping. 

**Angry Pissed off. Betrayed. Useless. Pointless. Stupid. All his fault. Why did he do that? Why did I have to ask? Would it have been better if I didn’t know? No!**

**I hate him. I hate -**

_myself._

He didn’t write it, even though he knew no one but him would read it. Just like with every other word he’s written, if it was on paper, it would become real and tangible and really, he was mad at Patrick more than himself. He couldn’t wrap his head around the inequity of the situation. The fact that Patrick was going to originally toss him away was enough to make him want to punch walls and people alike. Patrick’s actions hurt him, but his words were what could exasperate the thoughts and desires for damage that Pete could do to himself. But it was one word specifically that made him hate himself as much as Patrick in that moment.

Pity.

Like he wasn’t good enough to keep himself in check. Like he wasn’t put together enough to matter. Like he was inept and invalid. Inhuman.

He really fucking hated that word.

The love-hate relationship he internalized was far more intense than the one between himself and Patrick. He was never fully comfortable in his own skin, despite his desire to keep the vessel he inhabited in one piece. Before Patrick’s hands reached for his, and well before Andy gave him spinners and twitch toys, he had a way to cope with the displacement he felt that didn’t completely break him down from the inside out. 

Pete put down the pen and started to pick at the hangnails and dead skin that lined his fingers. He didn’t recall where he picked up the habit from, but it always calmed his nerves regardless. He caught a particularly troubling line of skin between his teeth and pulled it from the finger. As the skin peeled away, a splotch of red flowed from the cuticle. 

If asked, he wouldn’t be able to explain how good the release felt. A small tear in his skin with a little bit of blood was a relief, and a much better outcome than having his stitches being strained and the thing - the monster - emerging from the rips in his flesh. He could give in to the darker desires and no one would be the wiser. 

But in the moment, he almost wanted to give into the temptation of not being himself for a while. Be the monster Patrick was willing to let him become. Logically, Pete knew it was a bad idea and he thought it all the same. It was nothing new; broken records left the same song on repeat and sang out to him the words he wrote himself.

**Powerless. Pitiful. Pathetic.**

Pete ran his hands up and down his arms, feeling for some scabs of imperfection. Something to rip apart piece by piece. Just like Patrick had done to his sense of self. He didn’t pity himself, he knew himself for what he was.

**Powerless. Pitiful. Pathetic.**

“Pete. You don’t really want to do that, do you?” a soft voice broke through his thoughts.

 _I do,_ thought Pete.

Andy stepped out from behind him and gave Pete a long and almost sad look. He took Pete’s hand and examined the splotch of open skin. He shook his head and reached behind Pete to grab a box of bandaids, muttering something about a “worthwhile investment”.

“It’s fine, Andy. It’s just a little bit of blood,” said Pete as he attempted to pull his hand back. Andy only clenched his wrist tighter and applied the band aid while the sting of anti-septic shot over the small wound. 

“You’re not fine. You’re a decent actor, Pete. But you’re not fine. You have that look on your face that says ‘I need a break’ but it’s not the kind of break that we’d be able to manage here, right?”

Pete said nothing. He never needed to say anything when Andy already had it all figured out. Pete knew Andy was right. But saying it would also make it as real as writing and Pete just wanted a little bit of disassociation. 

“Why on earth would you want to mess up everything we’ve been working for since you woke up? Isn’t being alive enough? This isn’t the Pete Wentz I know.”

“Maybe that Pete Wentz actually died in the Howls and I’m not him,” Pete snapped.

“First of all, that’s unlikely because you have the same soul and same memories and the same body that you went in with. Second of all, dude. Just. Talk with me. Why now? What’s changed?” Andy was using his calm voice and Pete almost hates him for it. It was as if he was one of the trauma victims that Andy saved every day; just another person to talk off the ledge or into a sheltered place. 

Pete had been working alongside Andy enough to know some of the signs of a traumatized individual - enough to know he was one of them. He had been trapped in abusive relationships, and filled with doubt and more than a hint of self-loathing. All the same, he didn’t want to be treated like one. The pity party for one was fine, but on all the fucking Ancients, he’d rather go back to being on the streets than be pitied by anyone else.

“Stop doing that. That whole ‘I care about you’ thing that you do to the others. I’m not your little pet project,” Pete sneered. “You wanna know what’s wrong? Me. That’s what Patrick decided. I’m not worth saving and it’d be better if the other guy took over. That’s essentially what was supposed to happen and my existence is fucking the rest of the world over. Team Free Will is a fucking joke if your life can be determined by one half-hearted flip of a switch.”

Andy narrowed his eyes ever so slightly before he spoke. “So, you want your monster to break out and essentially destroy the body we’ve fixed for you. That is really weird considering how concerned you were when you actually had the surgery last year. But now you think you’d rather be broken than slightly fucked up? No Pete. You being self-destructive is nothing new, but this feels different. You’re fighting a different battle on a completely different level. You don’t have to fucking fight it alone.”

Andy always used to let Pete make his own mistakes, rather than try to fix who he was or try to convince him there was a better way. When he was first brought to the Network HQ, Andy treated him with kindness and respect, explaining that he had no intentions of hurting him or keeping him in a cage. Even when Pete snarled and spit in his face like an animal. After they bathed him and cut his matted hair, Andy let Pete run the conversation while he laid down the rules of their commune. Pete abided by them because they were simple and he didn’t plan on staying very long anyway. Until “not very long” became “indefinitely”, where he’s tried not to feel like he’s overstayed his welcome. 

“You need to cut this shit out and. Talk. To. Me.” His words were quiet as ever, but punctuated in a serious manner. 

Pete didn’t respond. He couldn’t let go of being angry and hurt, but it wasn’t really directed toward Andy. So he opted to kick at the chair in the hall before he sulked with his arms across his chest.

“It’s fucking Patrick, okay? He fucking played me for an idiot. I thought he actually gave a shit about me, but he knew he was gonna kill me - ‘sacrifice me to save the world’,” Pete huffed as he air-quoted the latter part of the sentence. “Like, it makes him no different than anyone else who promised me the world and came up short when it was time to pay up.”

Andy hummed knowingly. “Ah, so he finally fessed up to the whole binding of souls thing. What do you mean though? He was wrecked over it when you were still out. I told you that. What makes you think he felt any different about you before the Howls than he did after them?”

“Cause he said so. He said he made up his mind the night before we went down. He was gonna give me up.”

“And why do you think he came to this conclusion easily?”

“The way he said it -“

“Why do you think he didn’t tell you at first?”

“Cause I was gonna be mad at him, and I am! Cause he lied about it. Cause I’m not a part of the prophecy, I’m just a cog in the machine. Either I was supposed to take my rightful place as a replacement for the worst thing in existence, or abdicate the throne and let some equally shitty things ruin the world. And I thought it could be different. Patrick promised it would be different - better - but he had no intention on following through with that promise.”

“Don’t you feel different? Hasn’t Patrick made you feel different and better?” Andy asked.

“Sometimes, but it was always fucked up by the whole... unknown of what happened, and now it’s worse because I know about his betrayal. It just shouldn’t make me doubt my own existence, right? Like, if we were trying to win the entire time, I’d have been stoked on the outcome and Patrick would have kept his promise,” Pete rubbed his eyes furiously before he continued. “He lied to me, Andy. He lied. You’ve never lied to me. Fuck, JOE’s never lied to me. But Patrick, the one guy who made me do dumb lovefool shit, one of the few dudes I’d take a bullet for. He did. It turns out I was just going to be an end to a means.”

“You matter, Pete. You mattered to Patrick, even if it wasn’t in the way you imagined. You matter to me, even if it’s different than you wanted from him. You are your own person and I’m sure you imagined your life going differently than it has, but you have one. We’re glad you have it. Even if Patrick wasn’t in it, you still have a lot of life to live, and it’s all yours.”

“Well what the fuck am I supposed to do with it if I don’t have someone I can trust, someone I can -“ Pete stopped short of saying the word, because they never said that word. Words had too much power for their own good.

Andy patted Pete’s back and said, “Whatever the fuck you want. You have people you can trust and people you can love. Patrick isn’t the be-all, end-all. I’m not trying to trivialize what you have, or had. But you have a lot more potential than being just weirdo boyfriend material.”

Pete thought about it for a moment. He could do that, be just a guy with nothing to define him. Let it wash off him like summer rain in the city. 

_Ha._

That wasn’t him. He was the reactive nuclear core of their group. He was the muddled brown aura soup, emotions bouncing within him, never settling or stopping. Until Patrick, his emotions blared and bled from him like a busted tap. He couldn’t stop them it if he wanted to. And without Patrick in his head, he felt stupid, like he was regressing into someone he didn’t want to be. 

“Hurls, I can’t just forget it,” Pete whispered. 

“I’m not asking you to. I don’t want anything other than the best for you, dude. Just, don’t be self-destructive with your shit. We’ll figure it out. Patrick is at least gonna respect you enough to give you time and space to do so.”

Pete looked doubtful.

“C’mon. Let’s hit up that Golden Nugget place you love. Get some chicken-apple waffles?”

“You hate that place! The only vegan shit there is like.. spaghetti and salad.”

“Yeah well, I’m not the one who is lacking nutrients and needs comfort food at 4:46 in the morning. The only 24-Hour Vegan Diner is in fucking Evanston. So, get your head out of your ass and let me buy you some over-priced banana shakes and meatballs”

“Can you just call those Whisk dudes and special order some shit before they open? Puhlease?”

“You are gonna be the death of me, Wentz.”

xXx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from “I’ve Got All This Ringing in My Ears But None on My Finger” by Fall Out Boy.


	7. Find What’s Next And Get In Front of It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faith leaders, talking heads, and medications rolled in to stop the “Epidemic in the Outlands”, as one headline announced, by any means necessary. Joe didn’t understand it when he was younger. Not until it happened to him. Not until the Wild nearly grazed him and Mooshke. Not until a Beast grabbed his cousin instead.
> 
> —————  
> This is a long one, full of backstory and explanations, but we’re about to get into the heart of the story!

**one month prior**

As much as Joe tried to convince himself otherwise, he had to face the fact that his life was absolutely abnormal. A byproduct of said abnormality had him stepping down from a day job he loved and leaving his best friend on his own for a concerning length of time. While he was fine with giving up the keys and control of the shop, he was much more worried about how Patrick would fare in his absence. It wasn’t like he could just call up a babysitter or something - Patrick was far too prideful to let him hire a live-in nurse. Joe thought about asking Pete or Andy to watch him, or at the very least his mother or a neighbor, but Patrick insisted that he’d be fine. He jokingly promised to put pillows on the floor in case he fell off the couch, but then Joe started fretting about pillow safety and Patrick stopped laughing.

“Dude, I’ll just get a hammock and sleep above my bed,” Patrick protested.

“What if you get tangled in it and cut off circulation in your wrist or something?!?” Joe gave him a panic-stricken look. “Did you know that three in ten inexperienced hammock users can suffer from nearly fatal injuries?” 

“Okay, how about bed bumpers?”

“Child entanglement has led to the dismemberment of limbs and Pete already has that area covered.”

“I’m not a child! Look, the worst thing that could possibly happen is me choking on my tongue.”

“Yeah, don’t remind me that I didn’t find a fix for that.”

“Joe...” Patrick said warningly. “This has never been an issue before, why are you making it one now?”

“Can’t your best friend be concerned for your well-being? I jut don’t want to come back and end up planning your funeral,” Joe whined. 

Patrick sighed heavily. “Damn it Joe. I didn’t want to _go there _, but you’re being ridiculous and I’ve seen at least five different versions of my death and none of them are from falling out of bed, getting tangled in a hammock cord, or busting my brains open from a seizure. Can you just calm down about it? On the fucking Ancients...” Patrick muttered in exasperation under his breath as he shook his head.__

It only took Patrick another three days of convincing Joe that, statistically speaking, he had fewer visions during the summer months and he had been doing better with coming back to reality since the Howls. Patrick was thankful that he wrote dumb stuff like that down in his vision journal.

“Running headfirst into some mystery that may or may not be connected to the disappearances in the city is like, a really really bad idea, Joe.” Patrick had warned before he left.

Joe rolled his eyes. “You literally got us swept up into _some mystery_ for-“

“For science!” Patrick interrupted. “Well, history, but like -“

“Didn’t know that’s what you called Pete’s dick but yeah, ‘for history’. Doesn’t matter. I gotta figure this shit out. I can’t just wait here to see if the myths are real or fake. I know what I believe and I know what is out there. This goes beyond the scope of good versus evil, Patrick,” Joe told him.

What he refused to tell him was that he was pretty annoyed that he had to do this in the first place. Joe absolutely did not want to return to the Outer Burbs. 

As he drove, he thought about how it was almost two years to the day that their sullen-faced gang had first made the trek through Joe’s old hometown. Two years since he’d last seen the people who couldn’t or wouldn’t move to the city. The country roads led to the homes of the superstitious yet placid population Joe was more than eager to leave behind once he was old enough. He’d take the likelihood of running into a gang over the chance of stirring up the unknown that lived in the forests. 

A funny thing about “the unknown” was that Joe and every other person from his hometown knew exactly what it was. No one would talk about it. Or, they would talk, but “the thing” would be tsked about with shame and worry. Parents who worried that their kids might be next, kids who were ashamed to admit they had seen “them”, or anyone who couldn’t do anything to stop it from happening. 

He spent his breaks and days off leading up to the journey in the city’s libraries. He had taken hour long train rides to go through archives of newspapers describing incidents of missing children specifically in the areas outside of the general population. The older reports typically ended in an open cold case, despite the assumed conclusion: the child was taken by the Beasts of the Wild. No body, no evidence, no answers? The only explainable cause was the Beasts. 

That all changed when the inner city got more involved in governing the Outer Burbs. They weren’t ready for the weirdness and did their best to gain compliance by weaving a new narrative to bring up doubts - _“couldn’t they have just run away?”_ \- human error - _“Police are just lazy!”_ \- or victim-blaming - _“if a soul stealing monster did exist, it probably just went after weak kids”_. Assumptions of suicide became popular theories in the media that, naturally, reflected poorly on the victims. 

Faith leaders, talking heads, and medications rolled in to stop the “Epidemic in the Outlands”, as one headline announced, by any means necessary. Joe didn’t understand it when he was younger. Not until it happened to him. Not until the Wild nearly grazed him and Mooshke. Not until a Beast grabbed his cousin instead. 

He started to get it when media inquiry cards were tacked on condolences sent in the mail. He started to get it when his friends avoided him and the woods altogether. He started to get it when the city police pulled him in for questioning. None of it went anywhere. 

The mayor at the time prescribed doubt to the town, and the town breathed in willingly. It washed away the problem with lies to close the cases. The town never recovered, and neither did Joe. He never told Patrick the full story. His side where he was the victim and accused perpetrator wasn’t important. He held on to the truth: his cousin was abducted and killed by the Beasts of the Wild. All evidence pointed toward the unbound souls desperate to attach themselves back to life. 

The methodology matched the other cases Joe read about from those who had survived or witnessed the attack on someone else. An attack by something only seen from the corner of the victims’ eyes, or right in front of the witnesses - only as it happened, never before. The victims’ monsters fought for their partner and their own existence. If the monster was unable to fight off the Beasts, the victims would gasp for breath as the spirits tried to crawl down their throats, searching for a core to attach themselves to. If the victims didn’t die from loss of oxygen, they often died from the unnatural physiology from their state of being. A person couldn’t live with five kidneys, nor could they live with two souls. And if they somehow survived, they were never seen again. 

Unless their name was Hayden Terich. One of sixteen cases, within the past seventy or so years of towns keeping records, where the victim survived the onslaught of being Beastowed. A phenomenon so rare that of course it had to have a ridiculous name, or so Joe assumed. To be one of the Beastowed wasn’t necessarily considered a lucky thing. Typically it happened to children between the ages of five and ten, during the time when bonding with one’s monster was essential to natural development. Joe learned that these children had a Beast of the Wild as their monster, rather than the one they were born with. The children’s minds were wiped of their previous companion. They often just learned to live with their new “friend” and had relatively normal lives. Hayden was the most recent survivor Joe had researched, and he hoped that her monster would be able to provide some sort of insight as to what was happening currently. 

Of course, it had been difficult to convince the girl’s mother that he wasn’t just some random individual. With a little help from the Network, he managed to construct a more “professional” identity as someone who worked with Patrick and looked into “strange happenings” as part of some sort of research. He had to cut his hair to a more “manageable” degree, actually get his dress pants dry cleaned, and borrow one of Patrick’s old briefcases. It had taken a serious degree of professionalism that he didn’t even summon at his own job to set up the meeting, and Joe was not about to blow his cover or his chance to figure out whatever the heck was happening. He checked the address in his notebook, straightened his tie, and knocked on the front door.

He stuck out his hand to greet the woman who answered, “Hi, Ms. Terich. I’m Joe. We spoke over the phone about your daughter — “

“Yes, I recall,” the woman said icily. Her body radiated in a dark green of discomfort, marked by splotches of shameful red. “My daughter who seems to take this whole thing much too lightly for my taste. I’ll be honest, I don’t know what you intend to get out of this little chat, but if you mean to exploit her, I will _not_ hesitate to rescind my invitation.”

Joe nodded silently. Grief was a strange thing, to able to be expressed in so many different ways. The woman’s overly cautious manner and harshly cordial tone must have made her feel strong in light of what she had to deal with. 

“Through here. Hayden has been asking about this mysterious visitor for a week and a half. Would not stop buzzing about the whole thing.”

She led Joe to the formal dining room, the kind with curio cabinets filled with nice china and silverware, possibly a cabinet to hold alcohol, and plush chairs that showed little signs of use. Hayden waved excitedly at Joe. 

Her brown eyes were bright and danced without focusing on one thing for too long. Her loose chocolate ringlets bounced with her eyes. She smiled with all her teeth and beamed in yellow, putting Joe at ease. 

“Hayden, this is Mr. Trohman. He has some questions for you about your time in the woods. I expect you be respectful, but call me if you are ever uncomfortable.” 

“Okay mom!”

Her mother gave another disapproving look before nodding and leaving them alone. 

“Hi Mr. Trohman! I’m Hayden! Do you have any cats?” She had a loud voice that would have been unbearably annoying to Joe under different circumstances, but he was willing to deal with his own anxieties if it meant getting more answers. 

“Joe, just call me Joe. I don’t have any cats, but a buddy from high school had a cat that was pretty nice.” 

“Mom won’t let me get a cat. She says she doesn’t need another beast to monitor,” Hayden gave a slight and cautious glance to a closet behind her.

Joe followed her gaze. “Is that where she makes you keep your monster?” 

“Only when we have company. Mom says he - I mean, _it_ isn’t normal... It’s not bad though. It’s just a little different. It...“ 

The way her face twisted up with a word she didn’t really want to say reminded him of his cousin. Hayden was about the age his cousin had been at the time of her disappearance.

“You called him a ‘he’. Does he have a name?” Joe asked gently. 

Her face bloomed with pinks and oranges of excitement. “Marko,” she whispered.

“Is he allowed out at all?” 

“Only when my mom’s around.”

Mooshke peeked his head over Joe’s shoulder and shuffled his way to the closet. He cocked his head slightly while he listened to the noises behind the door. He closed his eyes as the flame above his head changed from a curious peach to a content yellow that matched Hayden’s face. 

“I think we might be able to manage. Mooshke is really good with other monsters,” Joe whispered back confidently. 

“Why do you call him that? Cause he looks like a moose kinda?” Hayden asked.

Joe shook his head and laughed, “It’s almost like the Yiddish word for ‘nutmeg’, which my gran called my baby cousin. I couldn’t say it without a lisp and it sounded fun, so I just called him Mooshke. Where did you come up with Marko’s name?”

Hayden grinned and called out to her monster, “Marko?” 

The noise behind the closet sounded like a cross between a muffled trumpet and a purr. _Prrowoh?_

Hayden opened the closet to release a shrunken elephant shaped monster, complete with tusks, ears, and a trunk. Instead of toes, Joe could see his claws retracted underneath the tufts of grey fur. When he walked, it was with precision and balance, much like an agile house-cat. His eyes blazed blue, almost as light as Joe’s own eyes, but laced with much more mischief than his ever held. 

_Prrrrrowohhh!_ the creature’s call came out more clearly once the door had been opened. It took Joe a moment to realize what the sound could be mistaken for.

“Well, that’s certainly clever. You were playing near Copper Creek, right? That’s your first memory with him?” Joe knew the place all too well from his own childhood. It wasn’t dangerous by nature’s standards, but the woods in any part of town were never really safe. He and his friends would play Marco Polo in the dark, and made the loser have to wade the waters without swimming trunks. 

“How did you know that? He just answered me louder than Jessi or Ericka would,” she said with the smile still shining on her face. 

“Let’s just says things haven’t changed so much around here since I was a kid,” Joe chuckled. “So, what else can you tell me about this guy?”

“He’s always been by my side, for as long as I can remember. He’s my best friend. We were made for each other,” Hayden said with a thoughtful look. Her aura clouded in grey with confusion. It was as if she was trying remember something that couldn’t have existed. 

Marko turned to face Joe suspiciously, as if suddenly aware of what he was trying to do. He snorted and lowered his tusks defiantly. Mooshke lowered his own horns in defense of his vessel. 

“Hey man, chill out. I don’t want to fight about anything, I just want to talk,” Joe said carefully. 

“Hey, Marks, it’s okay, he’s not gonna hurt you or try to take you away. You’re mine, you’re okay,” she cooed at the Beast. “See, he got taken away from someone else once. But he found me and became my friend, cause I didn’t have a friend like the other kids did. Mom doesn’t understand how important he is to me. But one day, when I get older, we’re going to go on adventures and find his other friend that he lost.”

“And then what?” Joe asked while trying to hide the slight panic in his voice.

“And then we’ll be happy and live together in a place where no one can hide us away,” Hayden replied. Her voice was plain and the unsaid “Duh” was poignant in the silence that followed. “It would be sad if someone was lost forever.”

“What if you can’t find them though?” Joe was pressing his luck and Hayden’s buttons by continuing his barrage of questions, but he had to know if there was some sort of end game that all the Beasts of the Wild were playing. He couldn’t just assume it was the stripped ones, but the broken ones too, who were causing the disappearances and restlessness in his city.

 **“Then we die trying.”** Hayden was speaking but it was not her voice that came out. Her face looked strained to keep her vessel from breaking. Her entire body convulsed for a moment before slumping down on the floor. 

“Hayden? Are you okay?” Joe asked as he reached out to her shoulder.

 **“I’m -** she’s fine,” came the voice again. It was more blended, with the Beast’s tone as an afterthought of Hayden’s. The girl’s aura was amplified in a muddled green and Joe could feel the waves of resentment coming from the vessel. 

“What are you doing with her voice?” Joe yelped as he narrowed his eyes.

“Using it, as is within my rights and abilities. I thought you wanted to talk to me, so I figured it would be much easier to bypass the middleman,” the Beast replied. It’s haughty tone sounded as ugly as it looked, as it came from Hayden’s mouth. “The real question is, what do you _really_ want to know, Mr, Trohman?”

“Where did you come from and how did you... infiltrate her soul?” Joe asked.

“I came from another place to find a more permanent residence,” Marko replied.

“I thought you were going to give me real answers.” 

“I thought you were going to ask me real questions. I think you already know the answers to many of the ones you were going to ask.”

“Why her?”

“Why not her?” Marko laughed. “A young girl and her monster could hardly fight off something like me. I needed someone to latch on to, to feed from and feel a purpose aside from the endless aimless drifting existence that came before this.”

“What makes you any better than the creature who expelled you from your original home? You’re just as destructive and selfish -”

“But I’m alive and aware. Miss Hayden is none the wiser. I’d do it again if it meant getting away from the rest of them. The hoard of soulless beasts, fighting each other like parasites on an animal’s carcass.”

“What about the rest of them?” Joe was almost afraid to ask, afraid to confirm what he already believed. “What are they all gonna do when people stop wandering out and stay away from the woods?”

The grin Marko plastered on Hayden’s face lacked caution, making it all the more creepy as he spoke. “They’ll do their very best, Mr. Trohman. You shouldn’t expect anything less. I hear they’ve already started. Nothing from her dreams will interfere with what they have planned.”

Before he could think things through, Joe launched himself at Hayden’s small frame. “What the fuck are they planning? What kind of sick bullshit are you talking about?” He wanted to stop the snarky little bastard that took away the girl’s innocence. He wondered briefly if his own cousin would have preferred death to this kind of existence.

Her eyes flashed in confusion. “What are you doing? Don’t touch me!” she shouted, voice lacking the echo effect of Marko latching on to it. 

Mooshke nudged Joe away from Hayden, bleating and honking warningly at the cupboard that Marko slipped back into after releasing control of the girl’s body. All Joe could do was stare dumbly at the scene of his own making.

“I-I’m sorry Hayden! He just-”

“You scared him away! What do you want from him? You’re not gonna take him away, are you? You’re not friends with the dragon or the fish, are you?”

“I don’t even know who they are!” Joe held his hands up in defense. “All my friends are humans.. well mostly, but yeah, no dragons or fish. What are you even talking about? What does that have to do with him?

“In... in my dreams. The fish said people would be coming for us - him. But we’d be safer in the sea than with them. Marko didn’t believe the fish in the dream, so he stopped showing up. Then the white dragon started showing up. He doesn’t say anything. He just looks sad and sits in the fire with his claws out. I think he wants us to visit him cause he’s lonely. But I told Marko about the dragon and he said it was dangerous and we can’t trust dangerous things.”

 _He would fucking know,_ Joe thought. He didn’t put much stock into the incoherent babbling of ten year olds, but Joe couldn’t help but feel like he knew who Hayden was talking about, like they were characters in a story his mom used to tell him. He just couldn’t place them in any of the bedtime tales, or even the ones told when the sun was up and there was nothing to be afraid of.

His thoughts were interrupted by Hayden’s mother calling to them. “Hayden? Is everything all right? Why is this door locked? Open it right now!”

“Fuuuuuck, of course this is happening,” mumbled Joe. 

Mooshke once again shoved and steered Joe into the direction of the exit before forcefully aiming a back kick to the door. And unnecessarily busting the knob off, sending it flying into a curio cabinet. Ms. Terich cautiously pushed the door open and surveyed the damage. Hayden and Joe’s eyes were both wide as their mouths as they gaped at the scene.

“I... I’m so sorry about that... He gets a little panicky over interaction with kids,” Joe stammered. “We’ll just show ourselves out. Thanks for your time!”

The two of them were out the door, in the car, and halfway down the street before Ms. Terich could even sputter an indignant, “Excuse me” through her pursed lips.

Once Joe had put some distance between themselves and the Terich house, Joe pulled over to take a moment of reflection on what had just happened. 

“Dude, what the fuck was that?”

Mooshke shrugged and bleated sheepishly. 

“ _I_ was in danger? We’re _all_ in danger!” Joe replied exasperatedly.

The monster merely put a hoof over Joe’s mouth and repeated the noise more forcefully. 

“Okay, but did you really have to break that lady’s shit?”

The monster gave a snort before rubbing his nose in Joe’s hair, his aura and flame glowing a soft blue hue to match Joe’s eyes. The snuffling noises were meant to be comforting, the nuzzles reiterating a sense of protection and care. It wasn’t a real reply, but Joe got the gist of the message. 

“You’re such a little shit sometimes, you know that?” He said fondly.

When Joe arrived back at his parents’ house, he couldn’t take his mind from one particular the scene that kept replaying through his head: Marko’s inner voice coming out of Hayden’s mouth. It was unsettling to hear, impossible to fully describe. It was masculine and heavy, not quite commanding but it burnt his ears to listen to. 

He laid unblinking at the ceiling and wondered if Mooshke had the ability or even desire to do that to him. Would his vocal cords produce bleats like his monster, or would Mooshke be able to use words he’s picked up? The idea honestly scared him, and his imagination was caught up in the unknown and untapped powers of a person’s monster. He had seen the power in rage and fear in Pete’s monster when it broke out of his vessel before. Patrick and Champion shared their vision-bond and their eyes glowed together in the trance-like state. But neither of them had their monsters speak through them. Or had they? Well, Pete made those gurgling and hissy noises, but he was a serious anomaly and Joe attributed it to a personality trait rather than an act of rebellion from his monster.

There was something else nagging at the back of Joe’s mind: how this happened in the first place. He knew it was the fault of the The Big Bad that souls and monsters became displaced, not just Pete. He paged through the notebook that Pete had given him months ago, trying to find the right scenario he had described. It wasn’t long until he came across a passage regarding the souls that got away: 

_“If we couldn’t take the soul, even after killing the vessel, then those souls were pretty fucking powerful. Which is why we were drawn to them in the first place. The Big Bad wanted ALL the power. If they escaped, they’d find a new host to keep their light burning. Sometimes we would try to find them again, other times we went with easier prey. But something I figured out after I had been alive in the world was that the souls and monsters had been touched by us began to decay. I could feel it inside me as the hundreds of souls I gathered for myself were trying to break out or break down. I don’t really understand it, but Andy and Patrick figured the science side of it all. I couldn’t use their energy, and that was my big flaw in thinking I could go up against the Big Bad. I was only a harvester, bringing in the crops for someone else’s meal. And those kids, they had so much innocence, they’d produce nothing for the Howls in the Ether. They were much more effective as raw energy going straight to the boss man. He’d use their essence to keep the physical space of the Hive intact, to make it even more endless than it already was. It would rub off on the colony, like a warm bath on a cold winter day, urging the inhabitants to seek out more of the warmth and taste for disaster we were causing.”_

Joe figured it made a lot of sense for them to go after the innocent hearts of children. Easy prey tasted no different than a hard-to-catch meal. He supposed he could empathize with the Beasts who had been pushed out of their home, but it didn’t make their own actions just or fair. Marko was right: the onslaught was coming - it had already begun. But after everything he learned that day, he didn’t feel any closer to figuring out what to do about it all. There was also the matter of Hayden’s dreams prickling at the back of his mind, as if he needed any more drama to add to the whole situation. As Joe contemplated their relevance, his thoughts were interrupted by a notification noise on his phone.

Patrick: _Hey. I fucked up really bad with Pete. Call me when you get service._

Joe stared bewildered at his phone, then at the time stamp.

 **dude, wtf? It’s like past 2 in the morning?**

_I know what time it is. You’re also awake right now, so I don’t understand where the concern over the time is coming from._

Joe rolled his eyes. Leave it to Patrick to be so... Patrick-y in his texts. He was right though, and Joe wasn’t going to fall asleep anytime soon. All the same, he sighed exasperatedly before hitting the call button.

“Hey. What happened with Pete? Did you have a fight or something?” He asked. 

“Or something,” Patrick’s voice came back. It sounded dull. 

“Elaborate.”

He could hear slight sniffling on the other end of the line. 

“I told him everything. Everything you already figured out, except for I was gonna be good, Joe. I was gonna let the prophecy happen. Do my job, count my losses, never look back. But I looked back at him and I couldn’t let him become that thing. He was - is - so much more than they gave him credit for and it took me almost losing him to figure that out. And instead I brought a different war to our front doors. On the Ancients, I never was a good friend to him in the first place, I never could have been.”

Joe had already figured that much out - Pete was alive because Patrick wanted him to be, and because of that, the Ancients saw some other way to balance the universe - give them some new “mission” to save humanity again. Patrick didn’t admit to it initially, but this wasn’t new information. It wasn’t enough to warrant a call at 2:37 AM.

He decided to focus on the Pete angle, since that was what the initial text was about. “So, why is Pete mad that you chose him over humanity?”

“Joe, didn’t you hear me? I almost didn’t! What would you say if every word I had told you was a complete lie? And not only was it a lie, it was that I was playing for the other team all along. I built him up to believe that he had a fighting chance, that I was on his side, because it was easier than looking him in the eye and reminding him he had been created just to die. But I had to be honest with him. I shouldn’t have doubted him, shouldn’t have been so stupid and blinded by a duty I never wanted.”

“Patrick...” Joe started before realizing he knew exactly where Patrick would go.

“No, Joe, you don’t get it! It not that he’s mad about me lying to him, he’s more absolutely disgusted that I saved him out because he thinks I felt bad for him. I mean I did, but I felt more than that. I wanted him to live so much that I gave him a piece of myself. So that a part of me would always be his. But he thinks that was just a technicality in all of this. I didn’t want to lose him Joe. I still don’t!” Patrick choked out between sobs. His attempt to string his thoughts cohesively wasn’t a complete exercise in futility, much to Joe’s relief.

“Dude, I get it. You’re in love with him. And don’t try to deny it man,” he said as he imagined the bubbles of protest that Patrick would try to emit. “It’s pretty obvious that you care for him in a different way than Andy or I would, and that’s totally fine.”

“Look, Pete’ll come around. He’s probably just trying to process this and his feelings about it as much as you are. Andy is probably talking to him right now instead of sleeping, which is what we SHOULD be doing, but my point is that I’d bet Mooshke’s left antler that it’ll all be worked out by the time I get back in two weeks.”

“It’s not that simple...” began Patrick.

“Shut up, it can absolutely be that simple. O-T-fucking-A, you guys are so ridiculous sometimes. Like, why is this even happening at this hour of the night? Do you just have an alarm set to throw each other into some sick miserable existence every sixth full month of the year or some shit?”

Patrick remained quiet on the other end.

“Dude, really-“

“I had a dream, okay? Not a vision, not even really a dream. I was asleep, but I was there in the riptide caverns. I found a passage that read like a prophecy, but then more words appeared before me, and they were in English. They said my name and mentioned that Pete was afraid of the water.”

Joe hummed thoughtfully, “Were they said or written?” 

“The words appeared in the sand and stone but I felt them in my head. They wanted me to find them... ‘by the southern seas of solitude’ or something.”

Joe’s eyes widened in recognition. “Do you mean ‘the southern stars of summer’?” 

“No, they definitely said ‘seas of solitude’. But wait,” Patrick grabbed his notebook and re-read the passage. “Okay yeah, it says “come find me by the southern stars of summer, close to the seas of solitude. Wait, how did you know that?”

Joe’s mind began to race. The stars were real, he has used them a a guide many times as a child. He remembered his mother once told him stories about how to find his way home using the stars of summer, but the seas were a myth. They only had lakes in Chicago anyway. But if he could find them, the stars might be the guide. And where there were seas there were fish, and the fish only appeared in -

“Dreams. That’s the answer. Or the start of the answer,” Joe whispered.

“Joe, you’re freaking me out. What aren’t you telling me?”

“Find them. Find the seas, Patrick. Not like, go look for them, but research the shit outta them. Get me any information you can about fish-related prophecies or legends about the sea. I’ve got a big hunch - how you don’t know the stories about the Seas of Solitude are beyond me - but look into it. I’ve still got a lead to follow here but I’m going to do some extra research in town tomorrow. I’ll get back to you once I know more!” 

“But what about Pete?”

“We’ve got bigger problems than your love-life, Patrick. I told you, that’ll work itself out. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

“I mean, sure, I guess,” Patrick said dejectedly.

“Take this as a needed distraction, Patrick. Trust me, okay?”

“Okay, Joe.”

Joe hung up. He did feel bad for Patrick, and he could really see where he was coming from. He didn’t want to completely disregard the situation between Pete and Patrick, but with the epiphany he just had, he couldn’t waste time on romance. As he sat up and rubbed his eyes, he figured he shouldn’t waste time on sleep either.

He turned his head when he heard a beeping noise. As he shuffled towards the kitchenette, he noticed that Mooshke had started the coffee maker and was struggling to get the beans in the pot with his hooves.

 _Okay,_ Joe thought bemusedly. _That’s a fair distraction._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from “Something Good” by the Damned Things.


	8. Chase the ghosts around a city maze we made

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title from “Young Hearts” by the Damned Things.

Ever since Patrick mentioned his dreams, Joe had a difficult time getting past the idea of yet another “supposed” myth being essential to figuring out the answers to all of their problems. He wrote down everything he could remember about the Seas of Solitude: there was a map somewhere that would help lonely and desperate hearts find their soulmates, but the hearts never came for free - there was always a price to pay to the sea. But finding the location of the sea was damn near impossible, and the beast who presided over the domain was said to be very tricky, if not altogether untrustworthy. The Siren was a legend all on its own, trapped on a plane just off the Ancients’ realm for Meddling too often with mortal issues and attempting to sway the other Ancients to be more merciful to their creations. It was said to speak in riddles and epithets, but it’s voice could only be heard in dreams. 

Joe couldn’t be sure that the Siren itself had called Patrick to its lair in his dream, but crazier things had happened to both of them. As much as Joe wanted to explore his hunch, he still had to figure out the mystery of the Beasts of the Wild. There was an almost overwhelming amount of leads for him to follow up on. One lead in particular had him intrigued, concerned, and mortified all at once.

In Joe’s ongoing research, he discovered that there were actually two types of people who had survived the experience of having their monster taken from them. The majority of them were like Hayden, seemingly lucky to have a monster bonded to them at all, even if it wasn’t their original one. The more Joe read, the more he pitied her and Ms. Terich. He learned that, as the vessels aged, they were much more prone to angry outbursts, personality changes, and giving off unsettling vibes. The monsters were typically domineering and felt out of place with their partner. The soul that was bound to the monster would begin to splinter at the edges. The person know that they were broken, but unable to reason why or how. The more sullen monsters were content to simply exist and not cause too much more trauma to their illegitimately bonded soul, but even they were not safe from mental detachment. 

The other type of person was much more rare. The minority of survivors had no monsters at all - they were anti-social, not by choice, but due to their lack of empathy or relatability to others. Some cases even described a sickness befalling other monsters when staying in close proximity, but there was no scientific studies on the matter. In the three documented cases from within the last century, it was surmised that the individuals were little more than shells of their former selves. Basic statistic of surviving such an attack on the soul were slim to begin with, but to live without any monster was not much of an existence. Joe was deeply disturbed to find that one individual in the 80’s asked that their friend “do what needed to be done if [they] were still a vegetable”. There hadn’t been any follow up notes to that case, which Joe was almost thankful for. He had only found his next lead after looking at a few online forums. The leader of one forum was supposedly a man named Joshua, or “J0shhhuw4h“. The board was private and the user list was unreachable. There was no way to tell who of the collection of followers were actual “voids”, as they called themselves, or just delusional and perverted individuals. Joe shuddered at the thought of people getting off on the poor kids’ existences. 

He sent a few private messages to Joshua, trying to maintain professionalism. His location was listed as Chicago, and he seemed very eager to talk. Or rather, as eager as one can appear while speaking over direct messages. What really resonated with Joe was Joshua’s repeated insistence that he was so inconsequential to everything, inferring that he knew of some big plan that the Beasts of the Wild had concocted. Joshua wouldn’t say what, out of fear that someone who had connections to the Beasts would find out who he was and kill him, but did ask if Joe wanted to meet in person. Joe took the bait and agreed to meet at Joshua’s apartment - although he didn’t quite understand how that would be any safer for either of them than meeting in a public place.

Joe reasoned that he had nothing to be afraid of - he had faced off against hoards of harvesters and otherworldly creatures when he went to the Howls. All the same, the idea of meeting an empty person was something he couldn’t even fathom until he was face to face with “J0shhhuw4h”. He apartment door swing open automatically and Joe found himself looking down at a darker skinned man in a wheelchair. On outward appearance alone, Joshua was a nice enough looking man - well-kept hair, brown eyes, tall, even as he sat, possibly athletic in his younger days - but his entire aura was dulled to grey, practically invisible. There was nothing to him. No hopes and dreams, no concerns, no lies. He was essentially a blank slate. Joe had seen newborn babies with more color to their auras.

“You came. The Beasts are getting more active and you’re trying to figure out why,” Joshua said by way of greeting. He wheeled himself across the sparse apartment and gestured to a grey couch for Joe to sit on.

“Yeah. Do you keep up with the news from the city? All those disappearances and now deaths?” Joe asked as he entered and looked at the strange paintings covering the man’s walls. The colors and vividness were a stark contrast to the dullness of the room. It seemed like a farce to have the splatters of Cy Twombly prints in such a simply kept studio. Not that he was an art critic or interior designer, but Marie was and what little he knew of that world, he recognized that the art felt too undiscerning of a choice. Especially for an individual who was supposed to have no palette for such aesthetics.

“Don’t believe everything you read. We’ve come a long way from being mopey and boring in the last thirty or so years.”

Joe raised his eyebrow, “I’m sorry, what?”

“The prints. I know they don’t seem to fit in, but I’m a simple guy. They are a good distraction.” Joe opened his mouth to ask again, but Joshua cut him off. “There are more of us than you’d think or be able to find. The forum is basically a support group and art is something many of us want us to have in our homes to remind us of the complexity of human nature. It’s an interesting thing to not have that part of your soul. You really can take in the intricacies of human interactions. And you’ve got a terrible poker face.” 

Joe stared blankly in confusion, not just to prove Joshua wrong.

“Anyway, yes, I’ve been keeping track of a lot of the inner city issues. I can make decent guesses as to the purpose of the Beasts, but I know as much as you do where facts are concerned,” Joshua shrugged again. “They are not very smart, but certainly relentless.”

Joe found it difficult to take the other man at face value. It was like dealing with another Pete; he felt dubious, overly cautious, and just a little bit irritated about the whole situation. 

“So, how do I know you’re not just working for them? Trade your help for a chance to live like the Beastowed? Being a forum mod not enough power for you? How do I know I can trust you not to lead me down some bullshit path?”

“We’re not bad people, us Voids. Just different. Unsettling, sure, but honest. Joe, I don’t have a monster, and none have sought me out to replace their old souls. There are numerous Beasts of the Wild. Why would I not make for a susceptible candidate?”

“You have no sense of humor?” Joe guessed dully.

“Because I have no heart, hardly a soul to speak of, and I can’t exactly run around doing their bidding,” Joshua said simply. “Let me tell you what you don’t already know about me. My monster was taken by a beast eater, not one of the Wild. This harvester had a monster of its own, and it devoured mine while it’s vessel tried to take my soul. They called me lucky for my bruises, scars, and severed spinal cord. They told me I shouldn’t even have lived. They had no idea that it poisoned me. It took something from me. I was violated and left to rot. I didn’t fit what it was looking for, I was just a sport. A snack. An insignificant blip in the grand scheme of things...” Joshua monologued before trailing off.

“The Beasts of the Wild take from the able-minded, the young, the indefensible. I’m not a viable match. I cannot be trained, intimidated, or charmed. I have a mind, but everything is flat. Hence, the prints. The are the only thing that aren’t one dimensional as the rest of my life.”

“Why not just walk into the Wild? Let another beast bond with you and get some kind of normalcy back?” 

“As I said, what would I really have to offer them? I’m certainly not afraid of the unknown, but the only unknown I think would bond with me is death, as it is inevitable.”

“That’s a pretty big unknown,” Joe said.

“When you don’t have much for company, you can be sated by knowledge. It’s all I can really consume with some semblance of pleasure. But there are some things that are better off not knowing until it’s staring you in the face.”

“So, you became a self-appointed expert on the creatures that you can’t even connect with, along with honing your seductive reasoning skills. Ya know, they could use a guy like you on the force back in the cities. So Detective Josh, What’s the key to solving this? Why are the Beasts of the Wild acting up now all of a sudden?”

“What does any entity searching for power want in the end?” Joshua countered.

“Okay, fair enough, but I mean, specifically. The end game is what? Revenge through power? What are they even trying to get revenge for? No - wait... let me work this out. The Beasts who were pushed out are like, kinda feral, but collectively want a home base. The home base should be able to bond with them and give them power to get back at whatever had removed them in the first place. So, the Beasts that took over them, or the creatures who took the souls to the Big Bad. But there isn’t a Big Bad anymore, that’s why they are maintaining their numbers. No one is coming for their energy. So again, what is the point to everything?” Joe rubbed his temples in frustration. He felt like he almost had the picture but it was slipping away fast.

“There isn’t one,” Joshua said quietly. “At least, I don’t think there is one. It’s just revenge, take everything down. Power for the sake of power.” 

“Yeah, but how the fuck do you know all of this?”

“I don’t. This is just the conclusion I’ve made. The world is going to end and there is nothing that can be done about it. To be honest, a very small part of me os almost looking forward to it, since it means I’ll be able to leave this place in peace. It wouldn’t be proper for me to just off myself. Being a casualty is way better than being a victim, don’t you think?” 

“You’re a weird dude, you know that?” Joe asked, completely forgetting his manners.

“And you’re a dude running out of time for questions,” Joshua said casually.

Joe scoffed, “What, like you have somewhere else to be?”

“No, but it seems like your monster is clearly not interested in hanging out here much longer.”

Joe glanced at Mooshke, who had taken to hiding his eyes behind his hooves and bleating softly. “Dude, what’s up with you?”

Mooshke let out another bleat and shook his head. He crouched behind Joe, which was quite the feat considering they were about the same height. His flame flickered ominously from a dull but anxious blue to a grey ember of discomfort. Joe’s eyes widened in panic. He had never seen his monster behave in such a way. Mooshke began to sway uneasily, almost as if he was going to be sick.

He turned to the monster-less man sitting calmly in his chair. “What’s wrong with him? Did you do this?”

“Not intentionally. I’m thinking it must be a side effect of my existence. I don’t get many visitors for a reason, Joe. Also, I don’t know much about your monster’s physiology, but it doesn’t look like it’s doing too well.”

“Okay, we’re leaving! Just, come on Mooshke, it’ll be fine!” Joe ushered his monster out of the apartment. 

“Good luck Joe. I really think you’re gonna need it,” Joshua’s voice came from the main room. 

Joe didn’t bother saying anything in return. He figured his own aura was vibrating dark green and appeared muddied with concern for his best friend. It said enough for him, even if no once else could read it.

“Hey, hey we’re out, it’s gonna be okay,” Joe cooed. He ran his hands behind Mooshke’s large ears, massaging deeply to soothe the creature. “No more scary... lack of monsters.”

Mooshke seemed to settle down after a few moments and they both hopped in Joe’s rental car. 

“Shit. This is worse than I thought,” sighed Joe as he started the ignition. “Why does it always have to come down to the apocalypse? Ugh, ok, so - let’s go over what we know.” He turned to Mooshke as he started counting on his fingers. 

“One: this is the Beasts of the Wilds’ doing. Two: they want revenge for being pushed out of their vessels and are getting it by decimating the weaker population of children. Three: they aren’t to be reasoned with, especially if they are willing to sacrifice themselves in order to completely annihilate humanity. Am I missing anything?”

Mooshke mimicked a count with his hoof and bleated excitedly. His ears twitched to underscore his point. 

“Ah right, right, the dream shit. Patrick’s dream took him to some mystery caves that we have to find in order to solve this whole thing, supposedly? I’m only 50% sure the stars of summer are the Crown, and even if I’m right, I haven’t looked for them in years. What if they’ve shifted? What if I need a celestial map to find them again? You know it’s will and skill that finds them,” Joe yawned as he rubbed his cheek with his right hand, scratching thoughtfully at the stubble under his jawbones. 

Mooshke merely bleated again earnestly.

“Travis? The guy with the bird? We met him for like, five minutes, three years ago. I mean, okay fair point, but then there is the whole ‘what are we gonna find when we get there’ angle. We haven’t heard anything from Patrick either. Hopefully he’s just so _enthralled_ by the legends that he’s forgotten to check in,” he continued with a light laugh.

“I’m not even surprised at this point that we’re being lead there. You know, it’s gonna be all about those two in the-“ Joe stopped mid-sentence. “Those two. Of course. _Of fucking course_. Those idiots. Pete’s a navigator who can’t see Monsters, and Patrick’s got Champion, who is practically an Ancient, who can unlock the creatures that live in the deep. The sea is key!” He shouted triumphantly.

That’s what it all came down to. The sea would wash over everything and fix it: Pete and Patrick’s relationship, the Beasts of the Wild, and any other issue they had. 

“The sea is key.”

——————————  
For a man who regularly recognized the importance of team building and harnessing the power of empathetic bonding that came with interpersonal affiliations, Andy didn’t “do” relationships. Not really. The one off girlfriend or boyfriend in his early twenties weren’t memorable enough experiences to make him desire romance. He just didn’t see it as a priority and he didn’t really see people in that way. The camaraderie he shared with his co-founder of The Network, Keith, was the closest relationship he had and could ever want to have with another person. He loved his crew fiercely, but never amorously. 

When Andy and Pete first met, Andy could never have guessed that they would become close out of necessity. The almost feral creature that, on occasion, still startled and surprised him with how immensely human he could be. He didn’t want to seem obtuse in asking Pete questions he couldn’t answer. He told himself that he needed to know as much about Pete as he possibly could for safety reasons. In case Pete turned on them, he had to protect the Network and it’s assets. He needed to know who exactly he was dealing with he was going to take in the strange creature looking for a purpose. Again, out of necessity, he learned far more than he intended. As Pete’s primary confidant, he wasn’t spared from many grisly and heart-wrenching truths that he told in the sardonic tone he became known for. Not that Pete couldn’t or wouldn’t lie from time to time, when it benefitted him. It seemed that he preferred the truth: big, bold, and complicated, just like him. His “togethership” with Patrick was just another thing he couldn’t bring himself to lie about. The fun, the fights, and, unfortunately for Andy, the fucks - all shared with little to no filter from Pete.

It was only natural that Pete would turn to him after Patrick finally came clean about the whole ordeal. Andy was surprised to learn of Patrick’s original plan to leave Pete to the prophecy. He was glad it hadn’t been his decision to make, because he could see both sides. He didn’t need to be in love with Pete to understand the strain on their friendship not siding with him would cause. If it was between Pete and the world, his own resolve would not have been strong enough either. He was never one for prophecies and fairytales anyway. Not when the real world had enough horrors dealt by humanity. 

He comforted Pete, of course. Talked him off the deep end. He didn’t think it would really change anything between Pete and Patrick in the long run, but Pete was prone to believing in his worthlessness, despite his nonchalant attitude most of the time. Aside from being someone to listen to, there wasn’t much else he could do. Patrick would go to Joe, Pete came to Andy, and when they were tired of playing games, they’d go back to each other. 

For the time being, he had a mission to focus on. The unsolved disappearances of Chicago’s children had given way to the unsolved deaths of them. At first, Andy suspected a rise in trafficking rings from the newer south suburban gangs were to blame. But there was nothing to tie the missing children to the more lackadaisical nature of the gangs. It wasn’t in their MOs. The uptick in deaths that followed the same kind of victims weren’t claimed by any groups, including the ones who were notoriously considered more violent. Even the rash and abrasive leader of the Cobras, Gabe, denounced the killings as senseless. In Chicago, there had never been a sense of serenity in living, but the disruption that the deaths and disappearances brought was enough to bring about cease-fires in turf wars and pissing matches. Andy was used to seeing universal tragedies begetting a calmer existence in even the darkest of times, but the violent natures of the more recent deaths shook the corporate castes and demonic drug rings to their knees. _Hashtag: thoughts and prayers,_ as they said.

One of the officers in Chicago PD, Mixon, was a former member of the Network, and gave them all sorts of updates on the happenings of Chicago once he got his badge. He texted Andy in the early hours of the morning with some intel on bodies that turned up near the Gold Coast. Neither of the two bodies could be identified as the remains were jumbled and broken.

“It looks like something out of the Body Works exhibit at the Museum of Science and Industry, only much more gruesome,” Mixon reported. 

When Andy arrived at the scene, the police had wrapped up combing through it for evidence. He flagged down Mixon to be let through the crime scene tape. 

“One guy has a theory is that it was a biological bomb, somehow set to go off at the time the two individuals met,” he told Andy.

“Who the fuck put that one out into existence?” Andy replied with an eye roll. 

“Kage, but you didn’t hear it from me.”

“Of course. Fucking dude is obsessed with bioterrorism. Find a better theory because not even our guys are there yet. Furthermore, you guys gotta learn to be more discreet. The only reason reporters aren’t here yet is because of that whole debacle over that heiress from LA being in town,” Andy scolded. 

While her vessel was speaking, Zell placed one of her claws on the ground in an attempt to get a sonic read of the area. She quickly scuttled into the roped off space to find what she was looking for. When she returned to Andy’s side, she held in her claws a broken off piece of a human jaw bone, coated with dried blood and a little bit of skin. She made clacking noises and pointed to the few other tangible remains of the skull. The officer quickly bagged the items and returned the fist bump that Zell offered him. 

Andy took a few pictures of the scene and headed back to the Network’s headquarters. There wasn’t much else he could do. Once he was able to take a closer look, all he could see was a map of the carnage. Most of the blood splatter came from the chest cavity, the legs from the knees down were mostly intact, and same with the arms from the elbows. From the pictures, most of the organs were strewn across the alleyway, but there was no documented heart or lungs. Whatever happened, the explosion started at where the core of a soul would lie. Front and center, no physical or anatomically designated place for it otherwise.

_Maybe Joe is on to something here. This isn’t a normal death by any means of the imagination, _Andy thought.__

__Andy plotted the latest attack on the map with a purple pushpin. Another addition to the numerous pins that zigzagged across the city and suburbs in no discernible pattern, never in the same place twice. He often tried to rearrange the thread-lines by time of attack, location, age of victims, and even socio-statuses. There was no way for him to pinpoint when another attack would occur, and no way of finding out who or what did the attacking. Aside from the manner of deaths, there was nothing extraordinary about the people who died. The only thing that they all had in common was that they were under the age of 15._ _

__Unsurprisingly, Pete was fascinated by the entire ordeal. He wasn’t weirded or grossed out by the gore. Andy was more than happy to involve him in the investigation, especially if it meant distracting him from thinking about the whole Patrick-thing. Even though a week had passed, it was still a sore subject._ _

__“So, is this humans doing this to other humans?” Pete asked as he looked at the most recent photographs._ _

__“We’re not sure. That’s the working theory, since we can’t prove anything else,” Andy sighed._ _

__Pete nodded in understanding, “You think it’s a non-human. A monster did this. But not a regular monster.”_ _

__“On the nose. Humans could have the mental capacity to make bio-weapons that cause this kind of carnage, but why now? And why here? It doesn’t add up with what we know about the major suspects in Chicago. Even if the source was outside of our jurisdiction, there are other Networks and associations. We have resources around the country; nothing like this has showed up before. And nothing is happening outside of Chicago.”_ _

__Pete sniffed lightly, “It looks like something I could’ve done to a person. We’re sure that He’s gone, right? Maybe I’m just immune to feeling him now.”_ _

__“The Big Bad is gone, there aren’t any wannabe Petes running around doing this to people. This is a different kind of fucked up. Definitely not the good kind of fucked up. It’s something otherworldly, but I’ve got fingers in a bunch of pies to figure this out.”_ _

__One of those pies was Patrick. Andy had asked Patrick to check into old histories and texts to see if anything like the current occurrences had happened before, but he hadn’t gotten much of a reply in the past two weeks. He couldn’t admit to being surprised, but there was a fair amount of annoyance to make up for it._ _

__“Can I do the string thing?”_ _

__“On the computer, not the one on the big board,” Andy said._ _

__They sat there in silence for a few hours - Pete was making shapes out of murder trails and Andy was searching the internet for anything that could possibly give him semblance of an answer. The next time that Andy looked up at the clock, it was a quarter to nine. Zell stretched to her full height and flexed the muscles that had stiffened while she slept. The sound of a printer elicited a loud squawk from Pete’s monster, and it crawled out of the hammock it had perched itself in. Pete pushed himself away from the desk he had been working at. Andy also gathered his materials and turned off the desk light. He grabbed the sheet that had been printed out._ _

__He glanced at the shapes that had been made from the check points and gave Pete a bemused expression. Not mocking, never mocking, but Pete was... well, Pete, and sometimes it was hard to take him seriously._ _

__“What’s this, dude?”_ _

__Pete didn’t meet his eyes and mumbled something under his breath._ _

__“No seriously, what’s this?” Andy pointed to a star in the top part of the map. “Why a star - wait, is this a whole picture?” He looked a bit closer. There were actually multiple stars and raindrops littering the bottom right area of the map. If he looked hard enough, some of the other connected points looked like lightning bolts._ _

__“I was just making stuff up. The water signs are near the sea. The lightning where there are major power outages during the worst storms. I like to look up that information in case I gotta get some candles or something-“_ _

__“What would you need candles for in Lawndale or Kenwood?”_ _

__“You never know! These places are really prone to power outages and I never know when or where you’re gonna send me on a random mission.”_ _

__Andy gave Pete a funny look. “You’re not... afraid of the dark?”_ _

__“No! I was created in the dark and lived most of my life in it. I’m not a-fucking-fraid of the dark,” Pete scoffed. “I just like to be prepared!”_ _

__“And the stars?”_ _

__“Oh. Right, well, Patrick... he, uh, it’s stupid, but he used to call me his star,” Pete said as he gave a half-smile to Andy. “We- he doesn’t do that kind of shit. Romantic language, grand gestures. But he said it three times. Once was after the gala ordeal. We went to a cafe in Ravenswood. Anteprima on Summerdale. I told him I was scared for him. For us. He said, ‘sometimes I feel like you are the sun and I am just the planets spinning around you. We’ll keep spinning when you’re gone, but wouldn’t it be a shame to miss those sunrises and sunsets?’ Heh, never really took him for a big fan of nature before then.”_ _

__Andy’s face softened, “Pete...”_ _

__“No, it’s fine,” Pete pointed to another star. “The Metra Railroad Yard. The first time he followed me after I left his apartment in the middle of the night. We were fighting about me hiding behind a tough guy attitude. He said, ‘I know you’re only blinding to keep back what the clouds are hiding: all the stars in the galaxy couldn’t outshine you’.”_ _

__“What about this one?” Andy asked as he gestured to a star near the Museum Campus._ _

__“‘Last month, I waited outside of his work. I brought him a stupid sandwich. He said, ‘Pete, you’re a bottled star. My good luck charm. The planets align, and just like Mars, you shine in my sky’,” Pete recited like a promise._ _

__Andy could see the picture perfectly, woven together by moments of tragedy, fear, and happiness. It probably didn’t mean anything relevant to the investigation -just a random coincidence - but it was clear how much Pete cared about Patrick. Or at least how much Patrick had changed Pete’s way of viewing the world, maybe even himself._ _

__“He doesn’t hate you, you know. He was just doing what he thought was right,” Andy said._ _

__“That doesn’t make it right to me. It doesn’t change his original intentions. Would you have done that, if you had the power and choice?” Pete looked up at Andy with a gleam of hope in his eyes._ _

__“I’m glad I will never have to know what it’s like to be faced with that choice. I’d like to think that I might not have lied to you about it, but the whole of humanity against one individual? Yeah Pete, I think I know which one I’d have gone with. But who is to say I wouldn’t have changed my mind in that moment as well?” Pete counted on his honesty, so he didn’t feel afraid to give it, even if it wasn’t what he wanted to hear._ _

__“You know-“_ _

__Andy’s text notification pinged before Pete could finish the sentence._ _

__He stared down at it for a moment and scrunched up his face in confusion._ _

__“It’s Joe. He says, “The sea is key.”_ _

__“The sea?” Pete stiffened. “I don’t like the sea. What exactly is it key to?”_ _

__“I have no idea.”_ _


End file.
